07-04-2018, 11:34 PM
Over the past few weeks, Drake could feel the life and zest of urban depravity returning to Nippur like smoke returning to the lungs of someone trying to quit cigarettes. The people had been hungry to reinstate the nightlife and jubilance of the city, which was a sign of healthy community as far as the smuggler was concerned. When the populace was more inclined to hunker down and cover their heads on a nice evening, shit was pretty backed up.
Now, as Drake slugged back his third tumbler of Blue Flame Rum, he looked around with a pleasantly warm smile. The tables in the local cantina he had come to favor were all buzzing with patrons. There seemed to be a public consensus that no one was going to acknowledge the fact that all of Nippur's greatest warriors were on vacation in Dante's Abyss, right after putting the city back together. No...that couldn't possibly be a bad sign. Maybe it would have been better if Drake had been given any sort of authority before they all left, maybe he would feel better about the situation.
But, no, the CEO never gave a shit about the IT guy. To be very, very frank, Drake was scared shitless, which was why he was now getting handsomely plastered. The Rhythmless Grill was a good place for that, since the owners, staff, and bouncers were all members of the nomadic Fremen tribe. Well, barring Kagumoo, who was a Gerudo witch at work, and also a part-time dominatrix, from what Drake understood. The Grill was decorated in the skeletal remains of various desert creatures, all lit warmly by the flickering light of smokeless oil lamps. Large decanters and bottles of deeply nefarious, darkly colored liquors lined a granite steele that had been converted into a tap shelf. The local Dunes beer, gamey and stout, was cut here with a curious, sweet compound that the Fremen simply called 'Spice'.
For more hearty fair, there were biryanis, tagines of chicken, goat casseroles, roasted nuts, eggplant and squash dishes...really anything that was salty and fatty, and readily attainable in the arid agriculture of the Dunes. Drake loved all of it. Normally the stereo system played ambient yet assertive remixes of tribal drum and pipe songs, but the smuggler Prime was in the room for a taste of home. As such, the sandstone hall was currently echoing with a very loud remix that brought out something in the Nippurian nightlife that they had never felt before. Perhaps it was also the excessive libations in their bloodstreams, or the sense of jubilant, springtime safety, but there were definitely a few people making babies up against the wall in the room tonight. Kagumoo leaned heavily on the burnished ebony bar, letting her olive colored bosoms rest conspicuously close to the tip jar.
"Another one, Drakie?" she said in her husky, dry voice. A stray curl of shock-red hair was pulled back behind her pointed ear. Drake shook his head slowly, blowing out a breath of air that was probably somewhere around thirty-five proof.
"Nah sweetheart. Wha's m'tab?" Drake sighed, pulling out a heavy purse full of Gilgamesh's face. The golden coins spilled across the counter, and upon being informed of his dues, he pushed the requisite pile over to Kagumoo, and the rest of the pile towards the tip jar. It seemed like the witch wanted to chit chat, but Drake wasn't in the mood. Being a member of his generation, he signaled this by pulling out his Dataverse device and scrolling through social media.
Nippur's new social media site, BabbelON, was motoring along nicely. The Yandere kid was doing a good job on the technical end, working alongside with Monika and the rest of SW3. Tens of thousands of Gilgamesh's subjects had signed on to the website and lovingly spilled most of their live's most intimate secretes into Drake's servers. What the hell the Royal Guard planned on doing with it, Drake didn't know, but he was at least doing his damn job. That was more than New Babylon's bourgeoisie blood-athletes could claim. He should probably call Monika and check in, but it was still before five in the morning in Coruscant. What to do...
Now, as Drake slugged back his third tumbler of Blue Flame Rum, he looked around with a pleasantly warm smile. The tables in the local cantina he had come to favor were all buzzing with patrons. There seemed to be a public consensus that no one was going to acknowledge the fact that all of Nippur's greatest warriors were on vacation in Dante's Abyss, right after putting the city back together. No...that couldn't possibly be a bad sign. Maybe it would have been better if Drake had been given any sort of authority before they all left, maybe he would feel better about the situation.
But, no, the CEO never gave a shit about the IT guy. To be very, very frank, Drake was scared shitless, which was why he was now getting handsomely plastered. The Rhythmless Grill was a good place for that, since the owners, staff, and bouncers were all members of the nomadic Fremen tribe. Well, barring Kagumoo, who was a Gerudo witch at work, and also a part-time dominatrix, from what Drake understood. The Grill was decorated in the skeletal remains of various desert creatures, all lit warmly by the flickering light of smokeless oil lamps. Large decanters and bottles of deeply nefarious, darkly colored liquors lined a granite steele that had been converted into a tap shelf. The local Dunes beer, gamey and stout, was cut here with a curious, sweet compound that the Fremen simply called 'Spice'.
For more hearty fair, there were biryanis, tagines of chicken, goat casseroles, roasted nuts, eggplant and squash dishes...really anything that was salty and fatty, and readily attainable in the arid agriculture of the Dunes. Drake loved all of it. Normally the stereo system played ambient yet assertive remixes of tribal drum and pipe songs, but the smuggler Prime was in the room for a taste of home. As such, the sandstone hall was currently echoing with a very loud remix that brought out something in the Nippurian nightlife that they had never felt before. Perhaps it was also the excessive libations in their bloodstreams, or the sense of jubilant, springtime safety, but there were definitely a few people making babies up against the wall in the room tonight. Kagumoo leaned heavily on the burnished ebony bar, letting her olive colored bosoms rest conspicuously close to the tip jar.
"Another one, Drakie?" she said in her husky, dry voice. A stray curl of shock-red hair was pulled back behind her pointed ear. Drake shook his head slowly, blowing out a breath of air that was probably somewhere around thirty-five proof.
"Nah sweetheart. Wha's m'tab?" Drake sighed, pulling out a heavy purse full of Gilgamesh's face. The golden coins spilled across the counter, and upon being informed of his dues, he pushed the requisite pile over to Kagumoo, and the rest of the pile towards the tip jar. It seemed like the witch wanted to chit chat, but Drake wasn't in the mood. Being a member of his generation, he signaled this by pulling out his Dataverse device and scrolling through social media.
Nippur's new social media site, BabbelON, was motoring along nicely. The Yandere kid was doing a good job on the technical end, working alongside with Monika and the rest of SW3. Tens of thousands of Gilgamesh's subjects had signed on to the website and lovingly spilled most of their live's most intimate secretes into Drake's servers. What the hell the Royal Guard planned on doing with it, Drake didn't know, but he was at least doing his damn job. That was more than New Babylon's bourgeoisie blood-athletes could claim. He should probably call Monika and check in, but it was still before five in the morning in Coruscant. What to do...
![[Image: screen_shot_2018_02_16_at_4_33_57_pm_by_...c3dkog.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/883e/f/2018/047/1/d/screen_shot_2018_02_16_at_4_33_57_pm_by_tearen_and_zearen-dc3dkog.png)