[OMEGA] Booze and Blue Armor (closed)

Omega had changed.

That was putting it mildly, sure, but it was the best word coming to Art Daye's mind. The last time he'd been here he'd been slugging it out in urban warfare against Cerberus forces and those Reaper things---the admittedly shitty Omegan scenery hadn't been improved by making it into a war zone. Now it was almost respectable.

Fucking bizarre.

Though some things hadn't changed, Daye thought as he shoved his blue-armored form through the crush. The fucking stink, for one, had yet to go away. It was a part of the station's character, what happened when you shoved a bunch of alien species together in close proximity when a lot of them were living in shit. Omega's new "golden age" had yet to trickle down to a lot of people, and there were still vorcha lurking everywhere ready to ambush an unwary tourist or group there to see the new meeting point between Terminus and C-Space.

The Screaming Pyjak was one of those things that hadn't changed, either. Dark, loud...still very much the typical Omegan dive. Which was quite alright by Daye's standards; fancy places were popping up too fucking fast these days. He and Dunn had gone for a pint in one the other day, and he'd never seen his grizzled Centurion look so uncomfortable in his life. Hell, Daye had gone out to fancy places more than a few times with Lena but---

He shook his shaven head sharply. Didn't need to be thinking about that. Not now.

Shoving his way past a stumbling salarian, he walked over to the bar, sitting down next to a trim young woman chatting with the bartender. "Hey. Long time no see."

"I'm telling you, Vex', you're gonna have to start mopping the floors 'round here. That dried blood is a real turn-off these days. Keep it up an' all you'll be getting in here is vorcha and real screaming bloody pyjaks."

"Yeah, yeah. Who are ya, the fucking health inspector? Just shaddap and drink your beer, eh Lessie?"

"As if you can call this piss-water 'beer', Vex'. If there was a legit legal system here, your spiky arse'd be sued for false fucking advertisin' by now," Lessina said, rolling her eyes and turning away from the surly turian bartender to face the even surlier Sun approaching her.

New Omega had been suiting her well, apparently - the paramedic's once-threadbare clothes looked pristine and new, the layer of filth that tended to settle on the average Omegan conspicuously absent. No doubt that was a side effect of working in a legitimate hospital rather than a clinic in which maybe one person had real medical training, but there was still no denying it - Lessina Moore looked good.

"Daye! You grizzled old bastard!" Lessina greeted him enthusiastically, debating a hug before finally settling for a friendly clap on the shoulder. It was funny, really - she hadn't seen the tough old Sun for over a year, and barely at all before that, but there was still a kinship there. He had saved her life, after all. And momentarily reunited her with her father. That sort of thing wasn't easily forgotten, but Lessina had doubted whether he'd really show up. "How's life been treatin' ya?"

"Keeping me fuckin' busy," Daye grunted, "rebuilding a unit takes a lotta time."

To put it mildly. Katamayla had halved 9 Commando's strength, but Earth had absolutely butchered it. Old hands like Rossi, "Katamayla" Khor'shok and Dunn and more than a few other blooded vets were still around, but for the most part it was a shiny new unit, and Daye intended to make them sharp.

He also had to hand it to the bartender, the old turian remembered what kind of beer he liked and already had a bottle out. Daye cracked open the Sundown's Razor and took a long swig. His brow was knitted, his posture tense---this was clearly a man under a lot of stress.

Daye did his best to hide it, though. Lessina...she didn't need to know all the shit he'd gone through during the Reaper War and its aftermath. Especially not the aftermath. Deepset eyes glanced over at her after he took a second chug. "How about you?" he asked, slamming the bottle down on the bar, "looks like you're doing fucking well for yourself."

"Y' damn well bet I am!" Lessina replied, resisting the urge to ask what was troubling him. It was obviously something, but... Well, no need to tarnish the evening quite so soon. "The little Omegan slum girl who never even went to a fucking school finally got herself a real, actually qualified job! How 'bout that?"

It was a miracle, really. The only good thing the War had ever done for her. Between getting some impromptu training on the Citadel (the Citadel! Lessina never thought she'd leave Omega, never mind get to see the Citadel!) and Omega's sudden desire for semi-respectability, she'd just sort of drifted into what was pretty much her dream job.

... OK, she could do with less wannabe mercs trying to pretend they hadn't just accidentally shot themselves in the foot, but you take the rough with the smooth. And Lessina had to admit, there was a hell of a lot more smooth now than the last time she was on Omega. If Daye hadn't been there to pull her out of the fire...

She didn't want to think about that. Booze time.

"Oi, Vex'! Grab us some more Sundowns, will ya? Put 'em on my tab!" Lessina called over her shoulder, before returning her gaze to Daye. The faint, mocking reply of "Ooh, splashin' out now ya got company, eh Less'?" came echoing from the back room, but Lessina ignored it. Instead, she had a question for Daye.

"Y'know, I gotta say I wasn't expecting ya to show yer ugly mug so soon, Art," she began, downing the last of her vile (but delightfully cheap) beer before Vex' returned with the good stuff. "What with relay travel being such a bitch these days an' all. The Suns doin' particularly well outta this whole mess, or did ya just come to try out the new strip joints?"

"I got a tip for you and yer boys if it's the latter," Lessina added with a smirk. "Steer clear of that Aphrodite place on Katange if you value yer credit chit. The lap dancers there have sticky fingers. Don't they, Vex'?"

The turian in question just grumbled, unceremoniously dumping a modest collection of bottles onto the bar in front of them.

Were the Suns doing well for themselves? Well...that certainly depended on your point of view. With the units coming down on one side or another of the Vosque-Del'Serah divide, there wasn't a whole lot of organizational unity these days. Everybody worked for the corp, but there was going to be a reckoning between the human and the batarian at the top, and at the moment Daye wasn't entirely sure who he'd put money on.

Del'Serah's definitely the better of the two, but Vosque has fucking Aria on his side...

But contracts were springing up everywhere, and they'd gotten a lot of recruits: ex-military looking for better pay than their governments could offer...or men like Daye, for whom the ghosts of the past just wouldn't leave them alone, and who civvie street wasn't interested in helping.

No matter what their reasons, enough had signed for Daye to begin the process of rebuilding 9 Commando from the battered remnants it'd been when the blue flash had hit them at Earth.

And thank fuck for that. With contracts coming in left and right---and smaller PMCs snapping up jobs in what had once been their uncontested turf---the Blue Suns needed every job they could take. And Daye was getting tired of sitting around doing garrison bullshit. Important stuff, sure, especially when making a new unit, but fucked if it didn't bore him shitless.

"My guys got hit fucking bad, he said to Lessina, finishing his first bottle with a loud belch before moving to open a second. "Seventy-five percent KIA, but we're making back up our losses here. Recruits coming in left and fucking right so we can be choosy with who we bring into 9 Commando." He barked a sharp laugh at her advice, taking another gulp of beer. "Yeah, we found that out when Khor'shok almost had his fuckin precious Cross palmed. None of us are going there again."

Guess I shouldn't be surprised the War created more Art Dayes...

Lessina had seen them come to Omega: men and women, young and old, but all with that same haunted, intense look to them. They were the militaries' cast-offs from the War - the people who'd signed up to fight the Reapers, gone through hell, and couldn't stop going back. She'd seen more than she'd like at the hospital, people she couldn't help because their scars weren't something she could fix with a quick dose of medigel.

Dark thoughts, Lessina commented mentally, reaching for a bottle herself. Getting down wasn't going to help anyone. Instead, she tried to steer the conversation somewhere (hopefully) more cheerful.

"Khor'shok, huh?" she said, repressing the shudder that accompanied the mental image of the leering batarian. He had, sort of, played a part in getting her off Omega way back when, and had never even really done anything to her (though not for lack of trying), but that needle-toothed grin of his still made her horribly uncomfortable. "That skeevy old git's still kickin' around? Guess he's better at shootin' than he is at pickin' up the ladies."

"For fuckin' sure," Daye confirmed with a loud belch. "But the pompous fucker has his uses. He's whipping 92 into shape, they're far and away the best of the bunch so far."

Though to be fair that was partially Daye's fault---he'd kept Serge Rossi, one of his top combat commanders, as his XO. The rest of 9 Commando's line elements were under officers who'd held junior commands in the Suns before---platoons, for the most part, with even a mustanged NCO in the mix. But there was one notable exception, and one that had Daye even more worried than Khor'shok.

Fucking Puren.

Kobus Puren, former commander of 13 Commando, had come down a fair bit in the galaxy since the news of his activities on Kameya had broken. The bastard had been demoted and stripped of his command, but Vosque had enough pull to keep him in the Suns. And apparently Daye was the man they'd decided would be responsible for keeping him in line. So far the brutish South African had toed the line, but Daye knew that Puren was a problem just waiting to happen. And when it did happen, it wouldn't be pretty.

Fuck him. You're here to drink, so fucking drink. Don't think about Puren, or Khor'shok, or Earth, or L---

No. Definitely don't think about that.

He cracked open his third bottle, waving at Lessina. "So what's it like working in a legit hospital on Omega? Actually able to do some fucking good besides slapping on medigel and making sympathetic noises?"

"You say that like it's all I could do before!" Lessina protested, though her little pout was very much put-on. "Believe it or not, I picked up quite a few things workin' in that clinic... So no, I guess working somewhere legit ain't all that different. Just better equipped now, is all. And slightly less likely to get shanked on the job."

Emphasis on the slightly. For all Aria was doing to make Omega into a respectable hive of scum and villainy, it was still Omega, and Lessina still got more than her fair share of less-than-friendly folks coming in. Administration - yes, there was an actual department now, not just her making logs on a terminal - usually doled them out to her, since she had 'experience', but experience didn't make subduing an angry turian with sharp talons a-waving any easier.

"We do get some interestin' jobs, though," she continued, a vain attempt to keep the conversation flowing faster than the liquor. "See, back at the clinic, we'd usually just get people walking in, trying t' stop their guts fallin' out. Now, however, we get call-outs."

"This one time, coupla months ago now, we get called to this krogan's place. Now, we don't get many krogan calls - the whole regen' thing kinda makes medical attention pointless. But anyway, this one managed to gore 'imself in the face, and the asari 'e was with wanted us to go 'stabilise'--" Lessina made the quotes in the air with her fingers. "--him while 'e recovered."

"What she didn't tell us, mind, was that this bloody krogan was blood-raging all over the fucking place. The apartment was a wreck, orange blood got fucking everywhere, and the scaly bastard broke one of my mate's arms before he finally knocked himself out. After that, nowt we could do but drag 'im back and lock 'im in a padded room while he regenerated 'imself. And tend to me mate. And consider hiring some fucking muscle next time." Lessina took a modest swig, eyeing Daye's growing collection of empty bottles. "Got any particularly lazy Suns who'd fancy the job?"

"How the fuck did he manage to do that to himself?" said Daye, gawping slackjawed as he started on another bottle. The warmth was spreading through him now, his gestures becoming more animated. Lessina hadn't sprouted a twin yet, nor had she turned into his dead daugther yet. Good. It'd be fuckin' nice to avoid that happening again.

"I don't know too much about the krogan guys we have," he said with a wave of his bottle, "but if you just want one or two guys as dumb muscle, they're your best bet. Hard fuckers."

Movement in the murky crowd caught his eye, a youngish woman, auburn-haired, making her way onto the dancefloor. Was that---

Can't fucking be.

He shook his bald head sharply, distracting himself with a swig of beer. "Actually haven't run into too many Krogan myself in the corp. Not many of the bastards, but when they show up it's not for one of our more...considered jobs."

"Well, no shit," Lessina replied. "I've met a lot of krogan, daren't say anythin' against them, but... Well, I think even they'd agree that krogan aren't particularly renowned for their finesse." She paused, taking a sip from her drink before letting out a derisive snort. "An' listen t' me, usin' words like 'finesse'. Guess I'm proper educated now, eh?"

Lessina let out another little chuckle at herself, tossing her head back and draining the rest of the bottle as she leaned back on the counter. Daye was distracted, she could tell that much. She'd seen that look in his eye before, though she couldn't quite place it.

"Hey, watcha lookin' at?" she asked casually, mirth still evident on her face. "Some pretty young thing caught yer dirty old eye?"

She blurted it out without even thinking, and by the time Lessina realised exactly what Daye's 'distraction' was, it was too late.

Shit.

Lessina's jaw clenched as she hoped against hope that he wasn't going to have another flashback - being mistaken for his daughter had been freaky as fuck, to put it lightly.

Reality was a slippery thing for Art Daye at times, and alcohol served only to make it even harder to keep a hold of. Several beers made it positively greased up.

But before he could get up and charge onto the dance floor, Lessina's question jerked him back to clarity, and Daye felt like a fucking idiot as he took a closer look. It couldn't have been her; the hairstyle was all different, the walk all wrong. And those eyes lacked the fire that had drawn him to her way back when at the University of Santa Clara.

Daye drained the rest of his beer. Fuck.

He looked at the now-empty bottle for a second, laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah," he said to Lessina, "you could say that."

"You were thinkin' 'bout your family again, weren't you?"

The fuck do you think you're doing, Less'? Just let sleeping dogs lie.

"Did ya ever get to see 'em again? They make it through the War all right?"

What if they didn't? Stop fucking talking, Less'.

Evidently her rationality wasn't going to win out today. Maybe it was the Sundown's, maybe it had been the numerous pints of shitty beer back before Daye showed up, or maybe it was just her fucking saviour complex showing its overly-angelic face again, but Lessina wasn't just going to let him brush this issue off. Like it or not, she cared about the dour old man in front of her.

Hell, since Dad died defending Earth (fucking ironic, considering they kicked him outta the military after Shanxi), Daye was the closest thing Lessina had to a father figure. She couldn't figure out whether that was depressing or not.

The battered, bald mercenary didn't respond to Lessina. He just sat there in his chair at the bar, staring at his bottle, one hand grabbing it with a white-knuckled grip.

He didn't say a word.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

"Hey, uh, Art?" Lessina said tentatively, internally bracing herself as she gently touched his hand. If he had a flashback now... Despite Omega's revival, everyone here would be armed. If Daye thought something was happening, if he started shooting, shit, even if he just made overtures of violence... Lessina didn't want to think about that.

See what you've gone and fucking done, Less'?!

"Art, look at me," she urged, her voice shaking slightly. She didn't dare to move, lest the big man lash out at her. "It's OK... We all lost people, Art... You can talk to me..."

At Lessina's touch, Daye flinched, jerking out of his reverie. Deepset eyes fixed on Lessina, but he still stayed silent, teeth grinding.

Then he finally opened his mouth. "Why would you want to talk?

Because seriously, why would she? He'd failed her, failed Andrew, Deven, Lena...failed the whole fucking bunch of them. Earth had been where he was supposed to go to finish things off for good so they could have a second shot, so he could finally try to leave the fucking DMZ behind him. It wasn't supposed to have been where he'd lose half the men under his command, where he'd lose...

Goddammit!

He finished off the beer, jabbing an accusing finger at the girl---no, she was a woman now, she hadn't been a girl for a long long time---sitting next to him. "Seriously, why the fuck would you want to talk. Failed you twice now, didn't want to talk for ages, don't fucking patronize me now and tell me you want to fucking talk!"

Lessina squeaked in alarm, instinctively jerking back and reaching for the tranquillisers she kept for just such an occasion. Which, of course, weren't there any more, since surprise, surprise, legit hospitals didn't let their paramedics raid the drug cupboard for personal use. Instead, all she could do was freeze up and meet his gaze, hoping against hope he could break through the haze and remember who she really was.

"Art... Art, it's me, Lessina," she choked out, her grip on the bar tightening. "I en't your daughter, Art. She's-- Shit!"

As Lessina floundered, trying desperately not to make things worse (and failing miserably), Daye might have been aware of a turian hand resting on his shoulder.

"You're gonna want t' step away from the lady, sir," Vex' said quietly, having appeared from behind the bar. His mandibles flared menacingly as his cool amber eyes met Daye's. "We got an angry krogan in the back with a mean ol' shotgun, and he don't take kindly to people causing trouble in his bar."

The rest of the patrons had taken notice now, curious eyes zeroing in on what they assumed was just another bar fight kicking off. A few younger men were clearly raring to get stuck in, whereas many of the older and more cautious customers were surreptitiously stroking their weapons. If Lessina couldn't get through to Daye soon, things could go bad here, and fast.

A muscle in the merc's neck twitched, a vein pulsing in time in his forehead. Daye's eyes flickered, almost as if changing what they were seeing, and the way his teeth were grinding indicated he didn't like at all what he was seeing.

Nicely fucking done.

Of all the ghosts to haunt him it shouldn't have been that. He'd never received a letter, no "sorry for your loss" from C-Sec or whoever, but he'd known all along that the people he'd been slugging it out on Earth for hadn't made it through the taking of the Citadel. That the family he might very well have had a chance to reconnect with when the War was over had been...processed, by the Reapers.

Or maybe of all the ghosts to haunt him it would have been that. And either way, it wasn't fair to poor Lessina to put her through this twice. Not saying a word, he shrugged the bartender's talons off his shoulders, slapping a credchit down on the bar to cover the booze. With that, Art Daye stormed (stumbled, really) off into the Omegan night.

"Art--" Lessina began, but the big man was already gone. Her natural instinct to chase after him was subdued by the presence of Vex' standing in front of her, a reassuring talon on her shoulder. She wanted to go after him, to help him... But was reluctantly forced to accept that there really wasn't anything she could do. It would take a miracle to get through to Art Daye now.

"The fuck was his problem?" the turian asked, casting a surly glance over to where Daye had disappeared. The same grumpy look was given to the small crowd that had amassed as he shooed them away, waving his claw emphatically as he spat at them. "Yeah, yeah, show's fuckin' over, ya bastards. Leave Less' alone."

And with that, Vex' returned to his job of counting out the chits Daye had left behind, pocketing a few for himself as he cashed the rest. Lessina, meanwhile, watched the doorway for a few moments more, then silently returned her gaze to her drink. She couldn't drink it. Not now.

Poor sod...