A/N: Hello, all, and welcome to Smoke and Mirrors. I'm your tour guide Caith, and this is a series of drabbles based solely on the Ginyu Force! –chirping of crickets- anyway, for those of you who don't know, the OC of this story is one Caithion Sidhe, who has appeared across the internet (and very heavily in the fanfiction of one Starkiller by name) specifically in the DBZ universe. (although if you squint while reading Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives, well...) Caithion is my baby. If I see him anywhere I did not give him permission to be, I will react badly.

WARNINGS: It's the Ginyu Force. Expect alcohol, gambling, dens of ill repute- you name it, we've got it. Also, potential shounen-ai, since Caithion's as gay as a creme parfait.

Right, that all seems to be in order. Let's get on with the show, and drabble number one!

Tip

"You seem to have spilled your drink."

The red skinned humanoid turned to the person speaking to him. "Ehh?" he asked, unsure whether the other being had been addressing him. Through his alcohol-induced haze he managed to register two startlingly purple eyes-pinpricks, really- gazing coolly at him in the smoky half-darkness of underworld's dank interior.

"Wassat mate?" he half-slurred, making a wide motion with his arm. "Can't hear ye."

"I said-" Here the man lunged forward, grabbing his arm and yanking him down; the red man was startled into sobriety when the sound of blaster fire bouncing off the ceramic bartop echoed three inches above his head, "-you spilled your drink. Now run, you idiot."

The man whirled gracefully on his barstool and ran; the red humanoid had just enough time to register black hair and extremely pale skin before instinct kicked in and he was up and running, blaster half-out of its sheathe as he dodged around patrons, following his sudden savior, who didn't seem to have a problem cutting through the crowd like a hot plasma round through a bulkhead.

He staggered a bit near the door; another blast took off a chunk of molding above his shoulder. One long, thin hand wrapped around his upper arm as the other withdrew a sleek black blaster, aiming with deadly precision into the crowd of Underworld, who just now decided that a nutty bloke shooting random blaster fire was a bad idea and had begun to panic.

"For a space pirate," the man said, "you suck at this."

The humanoid opened his mouth to reply- then doubled over and vomited. The unknown man rolled his eyes and hauled the drunken lout out the door, making one last glance to be sure that his single blast had caught the would-be assassin. It had- the creature wouldn't be getting up or harassing the dancing girls any longer.

In an alleyway nearby, the red man leaned against a wall, hacking, glaring at his samaritan. In the half-light of senbex's moon he could see that the fellow was tall and thin, built like a willow reed. He had a sharp, elegant face and blade of a nose, with long, black hair pulled back into a loose, puffy ponytail behind him. His clothes looked respectably worn and well-serviced; the two weapons at his hips were obviously cared for. He was smoking a cigarette- had been, the red man realized, since that very moment he had informed him that he'd spilled his drink.

"Who the hell'er you?" he demanded. Left unsaid, and what is it you want from me?

The man shrugged, the motion rolling through his body like falling water. "I didn't feel like getting blood on my clothes. Leather takes forever to wash properly and I'm lazy." He blew a smoke ring into the humanoid's face. "Besides, I don't usually hold with drunken murder. Unless I'm the one getting paid for it."

"Were you?" the humanoid replied, hand snaking to one of many hidden daggers. The man laughed, and the sound wasn't reassuring at all. He grinned a big cat's wide smile. "Perhaps, but it seems my employer didn't trust my skills. He'll learn the error of his ways soon enough, and, well- less competition for me." He looked the other man up and down. "Although why anyone wants you dead, I've no idea." He said droolly.

"'EY!" the man bristled, offended. "I've a rap-sheet longer than your arm, spook!"

"Spook?" the man glanced at himself. "Hm. I suppose it could be considered apt. Well, then. I'll be off." He turned to go.

"Wait just a goddamn bloody minute!" the red humanoid leveled a blaster at the other man's back. "You don't just go an' save yer target from death, mate, not unless there's something innit fer you. And I don't like being in debt."

"Debt?" the man motioned with one hand, the one that held the cigarette. The flaming end glowed like a laser pointer in the darkness. "Mr. Scarlocke, you owe me nothing- yet. Let us just say that my life is boring enough that when interesting things come by, I tend to keep them around. And as drunken and foolhardy as you seem, you're certainly interesting." The man turned his head, still smiling his cat smile. "Later."

Jeice Scarlocke blinked and the man was gone, disappeared into the crowds that traversed the town late at night. He swore, stumbled, swore some more, then decided that worrying wasn't worth his time. If this was a dream then he'd wake up in the pub, and if it wasn't, well, the Milk Dud was leaving port tomorrow night. He was certain he'd never see the strange man or his purple eyes ever again.

A/N: Ah, Jeice. If only you knew...