There was not a sober sentient in the whole tent.
Coalition soldiers, Tynnians, Imperial clean-up workers - and yes, even
stormtroopers - gleefully stumbled around the fundraiser, the fog machine and strobe-light creating the desired effect. The band was playing a local hit 'Shout', and a rowdy pit of moshing had started up.
"An... annat's why.. when... when the thing is - the things is abouts this!" The Tynnian soldier hiccuped, and almost fell over "The things is, that, yous guys *hic* came here - only it wuzzint you, it was them other guys - except they'res you too, 'cause it's the same... it's the same... wossit? Empire? Yeah, its'se same Empire wot was here earlier, innit? Its'a same thing."
The toga-d Imperial pilot tried to focus on the seal-person talking to him, but couldn't get both images to align. "Worl, yeah, I guess in general terms-like, we're the same... uh... the same people? Izzat right?" The soldier to his right just shrugged drunkenly. "But - annis is a bit bit - we
wuzzent the same people. Thems was... thems was Baron Telan's men they wuz - bastards, they are. Takin' guff from a toff. Izzat right?" the soldier to his right was no less drunk, and shrugged. "Anyways, It donna matter no mores, 'cause now we've *hic* all had a drink, so we'z friend again."
An Azguardian trooper stormed right on by, spilling his beer wildly chanting something in his native tongue - the chatting Coalition and Imperial hardly even noticed.
Indeed, it was a good night.
Maxly was only upset he'd missed this much.
"Are we too late for the party?" his voice boomed, as the ragged (but eager) ranks of the Coalition's boarding parties set off to secure togas and drinks. "You there, where's your commanding officer? We've got to report in."
The Stormtrooper - whos helmet had been misplaced - sneered through an alcoholic haze "You're not the boss o' me -
I'm the boss of me. I think. I drink. I drink when I think, hehehe *hic*."
Maxly rolled his eyes "Aw hell, who cares?" and pinned a toga over his battle-armour.
"I'll file your report for you, if you don't mind." said J-1, calmly weaving through the drunken rabble. "It's only a matter of finding Captain Ion and - oh."
The spy politely and calmly approached the couch, and gently tapped Captain Ion on the shoulder, in a friendly way to tell him that there was busines at hand. Ion managed to extricate his lips from... somewhere... in Captain Eisle's tentacled features, and mumbled "Wuzzat then?"
"Captain Ion? I've been asked to hand in my report, as well as Maxly's. The crew has been saved, and are now freely mingling here in this very party."
"R-Really?" said Ion, a smile feebly forming on his drunken face. "Well... well that's great! Where izzat guy?"
"I don't know, sir - perhaps you'll be able to find him later?"
"That sounds like an... like an excellent idea." And with that, Eisle grabbed Ion by the shoulders again.
Could you even be kissed by a Quarren? J-1 had never had to think about it before, but the sheer physics of it all seemed mind-boggling. Ion probably wouldn't regret it 'till morning - or until he suffocated from tentacle-strangulation.
The spy left the two Captains on their couch, and instead took in the party. He was fairly professional -
barring that incident on the Swift Death's
Bridge, a little cynical voice told him- and knew that this was, perhaps, the last time the Empire and the Coalition were ever going to mingle like this anywhere in the galaxy. Maybe the first time they'd ever had, anyways. He needed to get
drunk. That was the way to celebrate.
It was as he plucked his first drink from a looted cooler, he suddenly heard a sound - or rather absence of sound. The last band had finished up, and now it was Regrad on stage (A few of the more enthusiastic moshers kept the pit going. It was the only form of violent interaction allowed between the Empire and the Coalition that night, so it only seemed fair to let this tradition go on). J-1 could see he had gotten into the party atmosphere by balancing a lampshade on his head and pinning an all-too-elaborate Toga over his usual robes of state. Maybe he was missing the point of the whole bedsheet toga idea, or maybe this was just the sort of person Regrad was.
Nevertheless, he seemed intent to speak. "Friends! So good to see you all at our little party! Admittedly, it was a little harder to set up then we'd hoped - some trouble with the tent-hooks, last-minute schedual conflicts with some of the bands, the occasional Star Destroyer bombardment..." much to J-1's surprise, this actually got
laughs - even from the Imperials. Just how drunk was everyone? "But seriously, I think we should raise a... well, a toast! But we haven't got any toast. So instead, grab your beer, grab someone else's beer if they're not looking, maybe grab one more for the road and two more because it's a highway - To our guests!" Amazingly, everyone did it. The Coalition and the Empire each raised their bottles, glasses, and cans, and in all sincerity, toasted one another with big grins. Containers were drained - in the case of Regrad, through impressive chugging.
He even crumpled the can for extra effect, which got a few more grins. "Sadly, it looks like our new friends are going to have to go home tomorrow - don't worry, we're not letting them fly home in
this condition! - but that doesn't mean we can't have a kickass party right now!" There was a cheer, it rolled, and was boosted by hooting. "So, one more toast - come on, come on, you don't need another reason to drain a can, do you? Grab just
one more. A toast to the day, a toast to victory and all that Jazz. A toast to the Tynnians, a toast to our good friend Captain Ion who - hey, you!" Regrad pointed, and the crowd turned. An embarassed Captain Ion pulled his face free from Eisle, and looked sheepishly at Regrad. "Okay, a toast to our good friend Captain Ion and
his 'good friend' Captain Eisle. A toast to the brave boys and girls of the Tynnian Defence fleet. And a toast to toasting, because it is an excuse for me to wear a lampshade on my head and drink myself sick." There was a riotous cheer from
everyone as the glasses were drained again.
This couldn't just be the alcohol cheering him on. There were some hardcore Imperials in this crowd who could drink with the best of them, but for just a few hours - maybe less - everyone forgot that. J-1 could see it from here, he could see Coalition beings from across the galaxy rubbing elbows with Imperial soldiers. Was it magic? Was it the Force? Maybe it was Regrad? J-1 didn't care, didn't think, for once he didn't have to. No one had to think about why, or how, or what, it was one last chance to instead think 'who' - as in, who they were and who the other guys were wasn't important any more. It was just... a party, and for a few hours - maybe less - J-1 felt... normal.
The party would go down in history as a sort of embarrased footnote. A weird, inexplicable moment of friendship. The Imperial guests would wake up the next morning, groan from a hangover, look embarassed as they snuck out of the bed of the Coalition hosts they'd thought looked beautiful through the haze of a good night's drinking, hurry their pants on, and be off quickly and without meeting each other's gaze until they were well away. On their part, there would be some whining in the days to come on Tynna about how they had to play host to their enemies, which would be quickly silenced by the money raised in the fundraiser and the hilarious movies along the lines of
Imperials Gone Wild and
Tynna's funniest War Movies. The magic of the moment would be forgotten, and it would make little difference in the war to come. Still, for the moment, the whole galaxy had almost seemed... normal again.
