|
|
Post by Xanathrozza Guar on Jun 4, 2019 12:50:01 GMT -6
Home, Desolate Home Xana PL: 26,834
The world really felt like it had come to an end. Of course, it really hadn’t, but the mind of the scientist who had been gone for many months thought those few words over and over, while leaning over ice cold glasses of scotch and bourbon. The woman of royal blood settled down and tried to forget the world, the second she had gotten back home from the invasion. Seeing her students still in well condition had filled her heart with so much joy. All of her fears had been melted way until she returned to her laboratory. Her life's work, everything Xanathrozza had worked on since her teens had been reduced to ashes. The tech that had proven to save lives and futurize the world, nothing more than chips and scraps.
Standing over the counter of the office she claimed her own, she found nothing in the condition it had once been. The fleet had destroyed the office of its technology to prevent the weaker forces of the Saiyan Kingdom from gaining some speck of power. The training facilities, the mechenizers, the modernized healing chambers, the zenkai boost injections, billions in zeni, down the drain. Xana could barely comprehend the situation she had returned to. She had no money, no job, no title, and no guide in the right direction. With nothing left to turn to, she fleed the complex and permanently moved into her dojo, where she started charging to teach lessons to kids. It wasn’t a lot, as she hated to burdon rising fighters with payment for fundamental skills, but there was nowhere else to go. Kayen would probably murder Xana on the spot if she showed up after insulting her before she overtook the throne.
Month later, we return to today. The pitiful money Xana had been making on Vegeta had mostly been going into alcohol and scraps of electronic material. She didn’t give up on the engineering job, but without a reputation, building was nothing more than a hobby. Starved on food, the woman’s head spun around. She sat in a bar, where she downed another shot of… something. It all tasted the same to her now. Her lips popped as she mouthed something to herself, tapping a finger on the glass while the back of her hand rolled on the bar. “Earth…” She repeated, with some words mixed between on either side. Her mind didn’t race like it used to, but she did come up with a plan to get back on track, though it was most likely nothing that a false hope.
“You’re such a coward…” She growled to herself, gripping the glass tightly in a sudden rage. Her eyes did not gleam any emotion, but the cracking glass in her hand gave it all away. “Just go. Talk with Carro or something… Someone with a shirt on their back and enough cash to get you off the ground…” The glass broke, cutting into the hands of the Saiyaness. The idea of being a Saiyan beggar was as low as one could get. If her Saiyan pride wasn’t already collapsed, then she would never resort to such an idea, but what was she to do now? Hope that no one asks why she’s living so lowly? She was useless in the war, and now she’s useless at home. There was no place for a Saiyan like her on this planet, and without a tail or a saiyan kingdom crest on her shirt, everyone else knew it, so why was she so afraid of commiting?
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2019 20:13:07 GMT -6
A bar somewhere in a Cacumber hotel was crammed and packed with out of town guests this afternoon, from all over the area. Many people, whether they were enjoying a break on their lengthy shifts, or star sailors that had just arrived from a voyage across the cluster, sat at tables and bar to enjoy warm food and cold beverages. It was an unofficial local hangout for those waiting on the next ships to depart Vegeta, as well as plenty of cadets who were training to become future soldiers in the Kingdom’s army. Each table had its own set group of characters; the burly and vulgar off-worlders exchanging jokes, guards on their lunch break watching the rowdy ones carefully, the elderly dockworkers reciting rumors and idle chatter overheard at the spaceport. The cadets talked about their studies and the pain of the training center, whilst the bartenders did their best to babysit the indulging drinkers on their wobbly stools.
Near the back of the large open room, away from the other guests underneath a dusty old window, sat a girl taking in what little reprieve from her troubles she could catch. Tarra sat with her feet upon the surface of the dusty table, her chair leaned back and propped against the wall, arms crossed over the chest as she watched the room with a nonchalant air. Her head remained stooped to appear as though she were enjoying a deep sleep, the haze of a setting sun outside shone through cracked shutters to mask her features. Nobody dared to make motion to approach the mysterious figure in the corner, simply for the unnerving feeling she seemed to radiate, many assuming she had been napping since they arrived.
The noise of this place was bothersome, but that was to be expected in a hub of such broad cultural exchange. An exceeded decibel level, so much that not many would come to notice nor hear the glass shatter within the hand of one gloomy patron stricken with internal conflict. The narrowed gaze from beneath a curtain of raven hued locks would suggest otherwise, their owner finding a trace of curiosity within herself at the display. Humorous it would be to think her world alone carried a troubled nature as of late. Though here was another soul enduring a similar calm before a trial of their own demons, or perhaps enjoying another scrape with fate. Who could really say? It was a while before the observant watcher decided to break her placid demeanor.
Tarra removed her feet from the table, rose from her perch to approach the bar’s end. A pair of finger were raised to the approaching bartender, whom nodded before going to work on pouring two clear shots. While the archivist’s daughter waited, she would take a good look at those occupying space down the bar from her, trying to read what stories she could from each face. Some told of relief, others anxious with anticipation, some even ecstatic of what was to await them. Though the singular somber saiyan sitting alone stuck out like a sore thumb to Tarra. A smirk briefly graced her lips as the two shots were placed down, before she quickly retrieved them to weave through a crowd down the bar. Noticing broken glass and a bit of blood, a brow was raised as Tarra set down the spare shot next to the brooding thinker. ”Not that it’s my concern, you should probably get that looked at,” she remarked cooly, sipping her own drink in a nonchalant manner. Tarra sat down on the stool next to the enigma, giving a smug nod at the spare drink now resting on the bar between them.
”Well go on. My generosity won’t drink itself.”
Xanathrozza Guar |
|
|
|
Post by Xanathrozza Guar on Jun 5, 2019 23:22:16 GMT -6
Home, Desolate Home Xana PL: 26,834
The Saiyaness remained still, almost as if she had turned to stone. Her lips were the only thing that moved, her muttered carrying ominous thoughts from head to heart and into a word vomit, spewing thoughts that meant almost nothing to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. Even the sounds of cheering and banter behind her seemed to phase to be nothing in her ears, as she vanished into her own subconscious. The war being fought in her mind carried on like a raging fire.
“No, I should go to Namek… Visit Chapron and visit the valleys for peace…” Xana bubbled. Her hand was well coated in blood by this point, her palm now dripping drops onto a bar napkin from one of her many drinks. “That’s stupid. I’m no monk, I’m a scientist…” The lady said, her eyes squinting forward as if she was about to punch someone. Her fight bubbled from her mouth for a while longer, the thoughts she kept pouring out onto any ears. She shifted the topic from her chosen planet, to how if she was a monk, she obviously wasn’t a Warrior of the Drunken fist. She was far too much of a lightweight to even think straight, especially on enough alcohol to make up 10% of her body fluid.. She had already forgotten about the topic at hand, but she knew it had something to do with space ships.
It wasn’t until the sound of glass hitting wood brought her back. The desire for another drink took up her vision, and almost as if on their own, her fingers raised to request a glass. The bartender didn’t move, but a glass slid to her side regardless. Eyeing over, Xana made quick note of the Saiyan. She had long, unkempt hair and classic style Saiyan armor with the protective pads. The Lady made a remark about the cut on her hand, but Xana only raised her eyebrows with a slight eye roll.
Xana eyed the bartender and tapped the counter a single time, hoping he’d turn to see her. Her desire for a drink was growing with her drunken agitation. Before she could scold and stand up, the woman who had made the blood remark gestured that the drink was for her. “You didn’t have to give me any.” Xana mumbled, pushing the glass away. “I can’t accept this. I’ve already used up all the zeni I have, I couldn't possibly pay you back for god knows how long.” Xana rubbed her eyes and leaned on the counter. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the cuts on her hand really did sting. She didn’t care, though, as it was a problem mere soap, water, anti-bacterial, and bandages could fix, even if the gash was a little big.
Xana twisted her foot into the foot holder, so the top of her feet pressed against the bottoms of the holder. “So what do you want?” The Saiyaness threw her head to the side, forcing her wavy hair out of her face. “If you’re looking for help up the later, there’s nothing I can tell ya other than what you learned in the academy. Work hard, train hard, work multiple fields, and do your extra credit field work.” Xana growled, forcing down her urge to tap the table for a drink. She said she was broke, so she had to stick to it. She wasn’t going to open a tab in front of this lady. It was already bad enough she was drinking alone on a mourning occasion.
Hello Tarra :) Welcome to sadgril hours@tarra
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2019 11:33:48 GMT -6
The smug smile would fail to leave her face, even as her offer was spurned by the other girl. A simple shrug given in response, not a care for whether the drink was taken willingly or begrudgingly. Tarra couldn’t help but let slip a chuckle in the back of her throat from this one’s retort, amused in her choice of words. There was little favor for the dreary tone in her voice, yet Tarra said nothing, nor further made mention to the sanguinary streams flowing from palms. Whatever ailed the girl possibly painted herself a villain in her eyes, were she so quick to think repayment of favors beyond oneself. Perhaps this down trodden patron thought little of random acts of altruism, or simply had not expected another’s benevolence to grace them in a place such as this. Truthfully were she to sit in her shoes, Tarra wasn’t sure she would have been as accepting to an offered drink. The shot might have been thrown back in the face of whomever for a quick laugh if anything. At the very least respect could be given for whatever restraint was being exercised midst this darkened mood. Not many saiyans could drink and check their temper together in harmony after all.
Tarra would momentarily find her eyes drawn to the oaken shelves beyond the bar, all adorned and lined with an abundance of colored bottles. So many to count, maybe ninety nine on the wall in all. So many choices to make, possibly as many that had been offered before their paths led them here. It had certainly been her first consideration, after the passed several weeks, to turn to a choice like the inebriated inventor had. The release of all one had been tied to, a soul descending into passivity, the paradigm surrounding oneself broken and changed ever so rapidly. What was to be said of her own ambitions as of now? She had worked so hard to maintain what she had with Bran, what little remained of her mother’s memory. In trying to preserve it, she and all that had been worked for fell apart. Plans in ruination, no compass to guide this wandering vessel over these uncharted waters. Truthfully when put into consideration, Tarra had every right to be sitting here, almost as though an ironic fate intended this stool to have been emptied for so long.
So what did she want? The answer to that question in of itself was mystery, for at first Tarra failed to find the words to convey such complicated desires. The bartender returned, setting a bottle on the counter with a tray of sliced tropical fruits. With a nod to Xana then Tarra, he would go about tending to the other patrons. Tarra’s lips tugged at the corners when Xana would make suggestion of her time, yet such a farce could only hold for so long. The smile dropped with her affable approach, a sweeping gesture to made to Tarra’s attire in a presenting manner. ”Ah, yes. What else could I possibly desire but power and brutish strength? I am a saiyan after all. Aptly put.” She would ignore the other girl long enough to refill her own shot glass, then down another with a slice of green fruit. ”To rise in the ranks,” she proclaimed, raising a hand to the air in dramatic fashion. ”To be the strongest! To ascend above all others! To be marked in legend!” Tarra’s voice would raise as she mocked a stereotypical visage of the average saiyan male, flexing an arm, and puffing up her chest. The act was quickly dismissed with a dismissive wave made before Tarra poured and took another shot.
”To fight for a kingdom now ruled by a pirate? Conquer some planets, restore the Empire, and all howl at the moon together? Well, you certainly paint the picture of a good time, don’t you?” She offered a chuckle as she crossed her legs, then swiveled on her stool to face the patron with a smirk. Eyeing over the other girl, there wasn’t much to take notice of which tied her to the current queen’s regime. There was a chance she wasn’t with the army, yet her advice suggested she had seen time of some variety. The bar itself possibly wasn’t a loyalist hotspot, in fact it far resembled anything that might serve as one. Mostly anyone that drank here were either tourists or enthusiastic supporters of Vegeta’s “liberator.”
”This is where wayward souls come to contemplate their thoughts, yes? Indubitably I am in the right place after all.” Tarra turned her attention back to the bottle, pouring another drink before circling the brim of the glass with a fingertip. What was this girl’s story? She appeared to fit neither niche, but rather that of a local, one who sat in this bar without a care. A soldier or tourist drinking alone here would surely have something to look out for, and yet there was a nonchalant feeling that permeated the air about this one. Maybe she was too wrapped in her own thoughts to probably give a damn. How fortunate she was that Tarra had shown up to alleviate her from those pesky demons. ”What of my aims, you ask? I merely spied someone in need of a drink, and bought them one. You are free to spurn my offer, yet do consider this. I did this not for an exchange of favors, but merely as a token of trust.” Tarra would then nod to Xana’s neglected drink, before taking a drink of her own. She then turned to meet Xana’s gaze with a confident smile, and a profound curiosity surrounding what answer might leave those lips.
”It is something of a rarity in these uncertain times. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Xanathrozza Guar |
|
|
|
Post by Xanathrozza Guar on Jun 7, 2019 9:10:57 GMT -6
Home, Desolate Home Xana PL: 26,834
As the bar was growing in people, the bar was growing louder to an irritating degree. The rowdy people who praised the bartender for their never-ending supply of rum and vodka, the scotch and bourbon and whiskey, all slide over the table, creating spills, sometimes a loss of a shirt, and definitely a loss of dignity, as the people yelled and danced to music that that couldn’t even keep up with in their sluggish states. Before long, the patreon bar had turned into a club, a mistake for certain, as some of the barmaids made quick work to try and calm people down. It took a lot of iron will for Xana not to leave on the first sign that people got rambunctious, but it was to be expected in the part of town that had always wanted the Saiyan Solar Empire to return.
Xana figured the lady beside her was no different than the rowdy extremists that made up the majority of the bar. Xana thought that her little spiel would be enough to satisfy the lady. The Saiyness had heard enough talk on how she should be teaching the “future leaders of the saiyan race” how to fight. Being a star pupil at the academy, it would only make sense that people would want her to carry that legacy on there, but she wasn’t going to satisfy power hungry warriors who wanted the world under one fist.
To the Engineer’s surprise, the fellow saiyan was far different. The Queen To Be turned and crossed her legs to the site of the Saiyan putting on a flexing show. She made a farce display of the way the Saiyans of late had been thinking, which made Xana crack a smile. As she put on her show, the Barkeep set a tab of fruit down on the table, which the Engineer quickly swiped up the Earthen oranges on toothpicks and made quick work of them. As the woman spoke of fighting for a pirate, Xana raised a fist to her shoulder and gave a half-assed “Aye!” Xana leaned back in her barstool and twirled a toothpick around in her fingers. “Y’know, nothing say brave and courageous warriors like destroying homes and murdering innocents.” The Engineer joked, pointing a finger gun at the long haired Saiyan.
As Xanathrozza heard out the other Saiyan, she couldn’t help but get her mind caught up on what she said. “I’ve contemplated my time for almost an entire year now. It just seems I found my home.” She said with a solemn expression, her eyes returning back to their dark glow. It was true she had been living in shadows. For the longest time, she wanted to prove she was worthy of the throne, and now, she was far from reaching a super saiyan state. Her leader had left her in the dust, crushed her dreams of catching up. Not only was she doomed to always be last, but she had lost everything trying to catch up. She built 2 dragon radars in hopes that they would grant her some wisk of power from those dragon balls. Not only that, but in searching for those dragon balls, her best friend died in battle, attempting to kill the beast who was terrorizing the people and the Saiyan Kingdom. It was quite a story that always had her crushed. Seems that not everyone who is successful can stay that way…
As the Lady got to the point, Xana eyed the drink once more. She claimed it was out of the kindness of her heart, and seeing as she was at least a playful soul, Xana felt less doubt over the true means of her patronage. “Well then, I guess I’ll humor you.” The Engineer said, picking up the small glass and gulping down the shot in a quick motion. As she slammed the glass back on the table, a delighted pant escaped the woman’s mouth, satisfied from another drink in her system. Xana eyed the woman now, an arm raised out with hand extended. “The only people who know morals anymore are the ones who has fought for their lives. Surely you have seen war, too?” The Saiyaness twisted a lip for a moment, pausing to think of her next line. Only a few seconds passed before she smiles. “Xanathrozza Guar.” She said, resting her spare arm on the counter beside her. “And who are you? A time traveller? You’ve obviously got to be from age 50, saying words like ‘indubitably’ in normal conversation.”
@tarra |
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 11, 2019 10:50:45 GMT -6
Truthfully the saiyan did not hold any expectations of the other regarding her awareness of morality. Though much to Tarra’s masked surprise, this girl seemed to respond rather positively toward her outspoken and opinionated demeanor, so much she felt the need to inquire on it. The archivist’s daughter stared ahead at a distorted news broadcast upon the television, her thoughts wandering and skimming over what she had seen of war. Nearly a year under the boots of the World Trade Fleet had done a number on the people of Vegeta. Where some had learned to live with their mistakes, live with what losses they had taken, some were not so fortunate to be rid of their ghosts. Those that could be seen sitting alone with a drink to themselves among the Kingdom were usually easier to spot. Perhaps Tarra’s drink of choice wasn’t always liquor in a glass, whether a burning building or a undermined criminal unconscious at her feet, in the end of it all she still sat alone with hauntings of her past. There were still faces to remember every time she closed her eyes. Perhaps she was no different than other saiyans after all, despite how Xana’s inquiries would imply otherwise.
”It is war. It is grim, it is brutal. What is more to be said of it?” She had seen and even at times committed crimes against the people under the reign of a foreign power. To pay obeisance with unconditional loyalty, or with one’s own life, these were the only options given to those fleeing refugees that had been snared in the Fleet’s net. At times in hindsight she often wondered if death would have been the kindest of the two. Fortunate it was that Xana directed another question her way, Tarra had unwillingly given enough of her own time, and self in witness to what becomes of a home in the tide of strife. Further inquiry to whom she was, and where she came from, as though she were some stranger from a far off land. Her quip to suggest Tarra a time traveler would warrant a laugh from the saiyan, whom swallowed another drink to retain a collected composure.
”Indeed, to this day I owe my mother for many things. I suppose you may count my lustrous vocabulary among them.” She would again swivel upon her stool to face the academic, greeting the extended hand with but a simple yet courteous nod of the head. ”I am Tarra, daughter of Vera; Archivist to the late king, and Keeper of the Saiyan Kingdom Archives.” Internally she cringed at the verbal use of her mother’s name, feeling it rather disrespectful to a custom of the family line. Though in hindsight what did it matter? This Xanathrozza had warranted some manner of respect for not appearing like the other idiots in this rowdy bar. Blessed she was to stumble upon the only saiyan within a hundred miles who possessed conscious thought not driven by primitive instinct. It still drove Tarra’s curiosity furthermore, an inkling desire to learn more of this saiyan’s decision to come here today, and what drove her to make that decision.
Deciding to indulge this new acquaintance further, Tarra reached for the bottle and poured each of them another drink. ”So Xana, tell me of this homecoming. T’was only recent, yes? I suspect nothing has quite lived up to expectation, if you so nonchalantly idle here of all places.” Tarra would gesture with a sweeping wave to the rambunctious crowd with a trace of pomposity in her tone. A musing purr in her throat as she gazed upon a brewing bar fight, before the shot glass rose to meet her lips. A few pushes came to shove, soon a haymaker followed, and within seconds a group of elites were full on brawling on the other side of the room. Ah saiyans, so predictable in the most cliché of circumstances. Tarra would smile passively at the thuggish brutality of it all, swiveling again to face the bar, as though not a damn was given to the world burning around the girl.
Xanathrozza Guar |
|
Xanathrozza Guar
