Chapter 3: The Affray
Affray: A public order offense in English common law consisting of the fighting of two or more persons in a public place to the terror of the ordinary people.
There are lots of places to booze it up on the Citadel. Most are seedy little joints with nothing remarkable but the teeming masses which frequent them. Before the Geth attacked, "Chora's Den" was a hotbed for drunken lewdness: cheap drinks and table dancing Asari every night. "Chora's Den" never recovered from its owner's summary execution by a Spectre and his crew. For the more discerning (and wealthier) patrons in the upper Wards there was "Flux" and sundry other areas frequented by the movers and shakers of the galaxy.
One bar started up with little fanfare back in 2180. The owner was an odd human who had opened this novelty bar in a mixed species ward. When it first opened its doors most of the ward's residents had not known what to make of it; but the congenial host, warm atmosphere, and reasonable prices had made the spot a popular dive. It quickly became known that Ray Kelly didn't care what whether you were human or alien; as long as "Donnybrook Fair" had customers he was happy.
Hao had heard plenty of stories about Kelly from his cousin; where Kelly came from or how he earned enough money to open a pub on the citadel, no one was quite sure, but after the corridor surrounding Donnybrook Fair became the only neighborhood in that ward not to suffer from heavy looting he had become something of a local legend. Some said he was an ex-alliance soldier on a pension from the First Contact War. Turians were quick to point out a lack of bias against their species and suggested that he must have lost his leg fighting Batarian pirates. A few humans even wishfully suggested that one-legged Irishman had been an early washout for the Spectres. Most other races dismissed this out of hand, yet no one could offer up any truly plausible explanation. The few who worked up enough courage to ask Kelly always got the same response: he scratched his goatee thoughtfully for a moment and replied, "Aye, that sounds about right," refusing to elaborate anymore.
So Donnybrook Fair's fame grew along with its customer base and the pub slowly expanded to an upper level and a few private rooms for those lucky enough to gleam of their existence. Tonight Ray Kelly was enjoying the fruits of his labor and taking a break from actively managing the pub to entertain his guests. In that upper level three humans: Hao, Mikhaihl and Patrick found themselves wedged between Turians and Quarians. The five Turians sat around a circular table dressed in what passed for casual wear among their people: subdued colors, baggy vests, and crest-fitting hats. A group of seven or eight Quarians sat in the corner in various colored suits; some bright and cheerful, others dark and brooding. The three humans found themselves subtly admiring the sleek and tight-fighting suits of the Quarian ladies. Two of the girls stuck out in particular: the one nearest them had a dark, forest-green hood and matching suit color with a dark red trimming of small rectangles throughout. The other one was clothed in slick black with grey highlights and white lines bordering the hood. In stark contrast to the grey and black; her opaque mask was a faded, dark orchid color. Whatever the Quarian women hid behind their masks, it seemed that Quarian fashion had no qualms emphasizing their feminine qualities to the galaxy.
"Thank you ladies and gentlemen! And the rest of you ragged lot!" A voice boomed clearly over the speakers; despite it's rustic appearance, Donnybrook Fair had not skimped on the audio set up. "That was an old Irish wedding waltz called 'Tabhair Dom do Lámh.' For those of you that don't speak Irish Gaelic, it roughly translates to 'Give Me Your Wages.' Ow! Easy there Kalt! Fine, it's 'Give Me Your Hand.' Though God knows my way is far more accurate."
Most of the crowd responded warmly to Ray Kelly's banter; Mikhail and Patrick in particular guffawed loudly, which drew irritated glares from the Turians next to them. Patrick might have paid more attention to the grimacing aliens, if the hats didn't have hanging bands of cloth which reminded him of a nun's wimple. To be fair, he mused, Those holy sisters at St. Xavier's were a fearsome set of battle-axes. Maybe I should be more afraid.
He turned to the Quarians, who had relaxed significantly since the arrival three humans had created a buffer between them and the Turians.They're probably just grateful we don't seem to give a damn about them. Thank The Lord we've got our own home. What if the Turians hadn't been reigned in by the Council back in the day? Would we be galactic outcasts?
He went back to watching down below, as the man on the stage continued, "I'd like you to give another hand to my accompaniment: Kaltrienia T'Arli on the Thessian Flute and on the guitar, my son-son-law Augusté-Napoleon Coignet! You all know he's been helping the pub get back on her feet since the little ruckus we had a few months back. I'm a bit parched, so we'll be taking a short break, folks and we'll be back after I've banished this perishing thirst!"
Patrick turned back from watching the stage and placed his hand on Hao's shoulder, "You wonderful devil; this place is fantastic. In case I forget to say it at the end of the night-thanks a million."
A broad smile disappeared and Patrick's voice took on a serious tone, "I mean it Hao. I know you don't think I take things seriously enough, but I'm grateful for you and Misha," he put down what was left of his smoldering cigar, pushed away their half-full mugs of Guinness, and grabbed the bottle of poitín, "You two are the best mates a guy could ask for and it's been an honor serving in your Fireteam, Hao.
"And here's to you," Patrick said, pouring each of them a drink, "Misha, you kept me on my feet on the ruck marches back at boot camp and saved my neck more times than I can count. Slaínte boys!"
"Slaínte!" Hao and Mikhail replied in unison, raising their glasses. Hao choked on the harsh spirit again and downed his Guinness.
Mikhail laughed a deep, full belly laugh, "Trouble, brat?"
"Don't feel pressured that you have to keep up with the real men," Patrick chirped, "We can have the waitress bring some cola or tea, if you can't handle it."
"Chi bao le cheng de," Hao muttered, suddenly feeling lighter, "There's no honor in being a drunkard."
"There's no shame in being one at a bar either," With a wink and smile Patrick waved down a human waitress, "Hey miss! How about another round of drinks-Porter this time, I think."
An attractive, Asian woman in her early twenties approached Patrick. She wore a long, yellow skirt which fanned out widely around her legs. The full skirt stretched from just below her chest to her feet and a tightly-wrapped, white blouse was tucked into it-with a few buttons left open at the top to tease the male customers.
After he reiterated the drink order, Patrick leaned in conspiratorially, "Do you know if the band takes requests?"
"Kelly-Seonbae," The barmaid said, emphasizing the honorific,"Plays whatever comes to mind."
"Aye, but surely he wouldn't mind humoring an old veteran on his day of release?" Patrick said, bringing up his omni-tool and typing something quickly, "What's your name dear?"
"Bae Cho-Hee," She said, eying Patrick with suspicion until a quick beep and flashing light drew her attention to her own omni-tool. Eyes widening, she exclaimed, "Ay...he's always had a soft spot you Alliance types."
"That's a dear. I've always been partial to 'The Waxies' Dargle' and it would be amazing to hear some more of these old sing-a-longs!"
"Is there anything else I can get you, Oppa?" Cho-Hee said, placing a hand on Patrick's forearm.
"Not at the moment, Mei-Mei," Patrick said patting her hand with his own, "But if I think of anything, I'll let you know."
The barmaid wrinkled her small nose for a moment, but the smile quickly returned. She turned to leave, giving another glance back at them; Patrick happily saw that Mikhail had been paying too much attention to the band downstairs to notice the flirting. The scarred Russian was a hopeless romantic, though he'd never admit it, and the lack off attention he received cut him deeper than he thought he let on.
"Smooth going," Hao said, interrupting Patrick's thoughts,"I think you blew it with her."
"Hmm?" Talk of women immediately brought Mikhail back into the conversation, "What happened? Blew what?"
"Yeah, what happened?" Patrick asked indignantly.
"The pretty Asian girl," Hao patiently explained, "You called her 'mei-mei,'"
"So? I thought you'd be pleased that I tried to be culturally sensitive," Patrick said, poking a finger into Hao's shoulder, "You said that the Asian girls liked it when you put a little effort into learning the language."
Hao sighed and looked away from the irritated Patrick to Mikhail, who was sitting rapt attention, desperate to learn anything he could about the female of the species.
"Yes and that's true," Hao continued, "But her language is Hangul, not Mandarin. You spoke to her in the wrong language."
"Oh," Patrick said, crestfallen.
"Yeah, 'oh.' Do we Asians all look alike to you yang guizi?"
"Actually," Mikhail interjected, "You mean she would be speaking Hangungmal. Hangul is the written language."
Patrick stopped mid-retort and turned to Mikhail, "Did you just correct 'the Professor'?"
"Qu nide!" Hao said angrily, " I thought you said you were going to cut it out with that 'professor' crap."
"You shouldn't have told us you dropped out of the Illyrian Technical Institute to join up," Patrick replied evenly, "Not our fault you gave us the ammunition for that one.
"But Misha made an excellent point. You've got to give the boy credit. He may not look it, but there's a thinker under that scarred and calloused exterior."
Mikhail smiled, "Just because I never graduated secondary school doesn't mean I'm a fool," seeing that Hao's arms were still folded, he added, "Kon' o chetyryokh nogakh, da i tot spotykaetsya. Don't take it so hard, Chief; I know you're an educated man."
Hao conceded the point and uncrossed his arms, "Mikhail, don't let anyone tell you you're a fool," he turned to Patrick, "But it isn't that...I just don't appreciate it when you try to use my education as the back of a joke."
"Hao," Patrick began to correct Hao's mistake, but thought better of it, the drink was making Hao a lot more antagonistic than usual,"My point is Hao, that it's the thought that counts."
"It's damned condescending," Hao glared, "You Westerners haven't changed in four hundred years."
Forgetting about his concern for Mikhail's feelings, Patrick threw back, "If that's the case, then who just sent me an apartment number and digits? It's all about the effort."
Before the situation could spiral farther out of control Mikhail decided to intervene and he blurted out the first thing that came to his alcohol-addled mind, "Be friends you foolish bastards. There's an easy enough way to settle this argument.
"Girl!" Mikhail said to one of the Quarian females, "Yes, you with the green hood. I've got a question-"
"It's a Realk," the Quarian said, crossing her arms and turning to Mikhail, "And I have a name and isn't 'girl'."
Confused, Mikhail tilted his head, "Eh? What?" After a moment, he remembered something Patrick had said about Russian manners, "Ah,nyet, nyet. That wasn't what I meant. Where I come from, 'girl' is just how we get attention of a woman we don't know. I didn't mean anything by it."
The Quarian girl seemed placated by Mikhail's explanation, but one of her friends spoke up, "Forget it Pasha; he's just another drunk alienbosh'tet mocking us."
Mikhail replied spoke up, flicking his neck twice with his middle finger, "Yeah, drunk. But tomorrow I'll be sober. You're ugly. Blin, that isn't right. Patrick, how did that one go?"
Patrick winced and looked over at Hao, seeing his friend visibly stiffen, both men expecting the Quarians to take umbrage at Mikhail's butchering of the famous saying, "It's 'I may be drunk, but you're ugly. Tomorrow I'll be sober.'"
Surprisingly, the Quarian girl Mikhail had singled out began to laugh, "Well, he has you there, Zal."
This got Mikhail laughing and soon both tables laughed as the tension between the two groups melted away. "My name's Pasha'Raegel nar Rayya," the girl said with an accent that was impossible to place, yet strangely familiar to Mikhail.
Mikhail bowed slightly in his chair, "Mikhail Nikolayevich Rastorguev, very nice to meet you. These are my brothers: Hao Xu and Patrick Murphy."
Patrick extended a hand directly across the table to 'Zal', nearly knocking over the the empty bottle of poitín. The male Quarian looked at him for a moment like Patrick was a leper, but after a few seconds he reluctantly took it, "Zal'Eska nar Ghrigult."
Pleasantries were exchanged all round and slowly both groups began to relax little by little. Patrick and Mikhail plied question after question to the Quarians, who seemed a little suspicious and apprehensive at first, but gradually warmed up to the pair. As the questions grew in scope each Quarian began taking turns educating the inquisitive pair; save an especially quiet female Quarian in the black and silver Realk whose face was hidden behind the orchid colored face plate which set her further apart from the more brightly colored masks of the other Quarians.
"So...you're telling me all that all Quarian children have to have to go on this 'pilgrimage' before you're allowed to serve on a ship in your fleet?" Patrick asked, leaning in closer to the Quarian table.
"Yes, exactly!" the Quarian called Pasha said excitedly,"It's a right of passage for our people. We go on the pilgrimage to bring back useful materials and supplies for the fleet. It also ensures genetic diversity among our people."
"Ah...I can see how that would be a problem..."
Pasha continued, ignoring Mikhail's comment, "Zal here has completed his and most of the rest of us are just setting out."
"Stand fast," Patrick said, bringing up a hand,"You must be getting thirsty after all that talking. I'll get the next round. What'll you folks have? Do they have Dextro-Porters?"
"You are offering to buy us drinks?" Zal asked suspiciously. Adding, "All of us?"
"Sure, we're having a nice chat and I've got more than a few credits saved up for a rainy day," Patrick replied.
"Pat here is being modest," Hao spoke up, "He joined the service on a like,"
"A lark..." Patrick interrupted, turning a little red.
"On a lark," Hao said continuing, "His parents are wealthy bourgeoisie from Bekenstein."
"They cut me off when I joined the Marines..." Patrick added sheepishly.
"Right, but you took a fair portion of your inheritance when you left," Hao countered, pointing an accusing finger at Patrick. "Don't let him fool you, he's the type of guy who'd have joined the French Foreign Legion just for a piece of the action."
"What's a Foreign Legion?" Pasha asked.
"What is French?" Asked another Quarian.
"Doesn't matter," Mikhail said, coming to the aid of the blushing Patrick, "What it means is free drinks!"
Hao looked like he was about to say something, but a set of daggers from Patrick's eyes told him to drop it. Patrick ordered a round, with only the red-faced Hao opting out. The drinks came and the Quarians stood holding the bottles, each with a colored straw sticking out, in Patrick's direction.
The three humans also stood up, with Mikhail knocking his chair over to the amusement of all.
"Take it easy Misha!"
"Bah, it'll take more than that brown water or that samogon to mess me up."
"Careful Ruskie...those are fighting fighting words," Patrick replied.
"If you're done..." Zal spoke up,"Blessed are the ancestors who kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season. And thanks to our new friend, Patrick'Murphy vas Budapest, Keelah se'lai."
The other Quarians echoed the toast and each took a sip. Patrick quickly took a drink so he wouldn't laugh at the sight of the helmeted aliens drinking beer from straws.
"That was nice, my turn" Mikhail said,"Let's see, Davai Za..." he fumbled for a moment, trying to think, then finished, "Davai za zdorovye!"
Hao, who had heard the worst stories about the Quarians growing up as a colonial boy on the rim, felt a little ashamed at some of the rumors he had accepted when he was studying engineering at school. Reluctantly, he voiced his thoughts.
To his surprise, the Quarians reacted with more fatalism than rage or indignation, "It's all right, Mr. Xu," one of the males said, "You have to get use to the racism pretty quick once you start your pilgrimage or most pilgrims would spend all their time fighting ignorant bosh'tets, instead of finding something of use to our people."
Zal added, bitterly, "I'm just glad I'll finally be heading back to the fleet and away from all these alien det kaz-"
"Keelah, Zal!" Pasha interrupted, "You're drinking the beer these aliens got you!" She gestured to Patrick and Mikhail, who more interested in figuring out what the aborted curseword meant.
Zal hung his head in acknowledgement, "You are right, but you know what I meant Pasha," he gave a slight nod over at Patrick, "I had a rough pilgrimage out in some of the human colonies. I believe if I had not met the three of you, I would have gone home sure that there were no decent people outside of the fleet."
"Don't forget Tali'Zorah's Hesh'alan ," The female Quarian in black and silver said in a soft, lilting voice. Even more quietly, she added, "You know, that handsome alien?"
"Her Hesh'la?" quipped Zal, causing the other Quarians to snicker and if Patrick was a wagering man, he'd have bet that she was blushing even darker than her purplish visor. That name Tali'Zorah gave Hao a short pause, he was certain he had heard that name before, but not quite sure where. Before he could say something, Mikhail slammed down an empty beerstein.
"Heshalah? Detkaz? I can't understand half of what you people say!" A look of clarity dawned on Mikhail, "Wait a moment...you can understand me?"
"Of course," One of the Quarians said, "Mikhail'Rastorguev, we've been speaking with each other for a good half an hour."
"Well, yes...but earlier tonight we ran into a Volus and an Elcor and they said all they heard was gibberish."
The Quarian shrugged, "We leave the fleet with the best translation programs we can find."
"Ah..." Mikhail said. He was about to say something else, when the band started playing again. "Hey! Patrick! I think I know this song!"
"Aye! It's the Waxies' Dargle. I asked for it 'specially since I taught ya the words," Patrick replied, "Still remember the chorus? Here it comes!"
As the chorus came through, Patrick and Mikhail started banging their mugs, shouting, and alternating the lines. Hao and the Quarians laughed at the antics of the two merry drunks and even a trio of Salarians a few tables away joined in once they learned the lyrics. The Turians, however, remained unamused. Finally the band came to the last verse and chorus:
"What'll ya have?"
"I'll have a pint!"
"I'll have a pint with you, sir!"
Mikhail and Patrick joined in together for the finale, "And if one of us doesn't order soon, we'll be chucked out of the-"
"Would you be QUIET?" A flanged voice thundered out from the table next to them.
Patrick and Mikhail turned, dumbfounded to see an angry Turian with red-white face paint stand up and approach their table.
Pointing a taloned finger at the pair, he continued, "You talk too loud, you smoked those awful smelling cigarettes-" Patrick visibly stiffened,"you sing terribly, and you've kept the spirits-be-damned Suit-rats chattering for nearly an hour. I think it's time you and your friends leave."
Patrick was the first to respond, "First, gizzard-guts; they were cigars, not cigarettes. Secondly, you're in an Irish pub. What did you expect, quiet conversation about work? Hell, it's even called 'Donnybrook Fair' after one of auld Erin's wildest celebrations."
He leaned back in his chair, a sign of contempt, "And there's no reason to insult these guys over here. You got a problem, you've got it with us. Or does the mighty Turian Empire only pick on non-council races?"
A white faced Turian stood up quickly, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I think you know." Patrick said evenly, crossing his arms.
"Maybe he doesn't," Mikhail said, making a show of leaning over to Patrick, but loudly enough to be heard, "I've heard birds are usually far less intelligent than they look."
Another Turian stood and Hao started to become worried. Turians were famously stoic...but once conflict started, they went into it with a zealous professionalism. For all the trash-talking that went into Turian-Human relations, Hao understood that even in a simple bar fight, they were not to be taken lightly. Before he could think of something to ease the tension, the third Turian spoke up.
"What'd the little man say?" He added in a slow, measured voice,"By the Spirits, he's ugly even by human standards."
Mikhail leapt to his feet and crossed to the Turian's side of the table, "Don't have Russian language software? How's this?"
Hao jumped up, trying to insert himself between the three standing Turians and Mikhail before something happened. However he was too late and he groaned as he heard broken English pour from Mikhail's mouth.
To be honest, it wasn't terribly obscene by the standards of the day. What it lacked in pure filth, Mikhail made up for with embellishment and his own shaky grasp of Russian history.
"O, Turian devil and damned devil's kith and kin," Mikhail said, grinning wickedly as he recited the old Cossack's challenge with his own revisions, "You will not, you son of a bitch, make subjects of Terra's sons; we've no fear of your army, by land and by space we will battle with thee, fuck your mother."
He continued as Hao stepped between him and the offending Turian, "You Volus wetnurse, Palavenian catamite, and pyjack-fucker of the Citadel, an idiot before God, grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in a Hanar's dick. Kiss my arse!"
Patrick clapped and Mikhail seemed ready to continue when the Turian, mandibles twitching on his blue-painted face, reached out to grab Mikhail, but was stopped as Hao deftly brought a hand up in a block and pushed the Turian's arm away.
"I don't want that! Mikhail, sit your sorry ass down," Hao said, raising his palms in a gesture of pacification, "Look, you're right. We have been obnoxious. There's no need to lay a hand or cause a fight. We'll quiet it down and enjoy the rest of our evening, dong ma?"
The Turians paused for a moment, evaluation the situation. They had the numbers and the humans were obviously drunk...but the speed that this human had blocked him made him think that a fight wouldn't be as one sided as he had hoped. He weighed his options and finally slumped his shoulders.
Not wanting to lose face, he snarled, "Fine, but you're leaving after your next round. And don't forget to take your suit-mongers with you," mandibles moving menacingly as he smiled, "Otherwise all the Asari or Salarians in the Citadel won't be able to stop us from showing you pyjaks what real violence looks like."
Hao nodded, quite content to ignore the threat and let the Turian have the last, face-saving word. A wave of relief swept over the restaurant patrons; mostly a few Salarians who had been sharp enough to notice the confrontation brewing behind them.
But then Red-White Face added, not quietly enough, "Damn humans...just because we let one of them play Spectre. They're not ready for the real galaxy."
Hao stiffened at the insult to Shepard, but before he could respond a flushing Patrick spoke up, "You've got that backward mate. The Asari and Salarians are there to keep you safe from us. And never forget it was a human Spectre and a human who stopped the Geth from wiping out the Council and seizing the Citadel.
"And I can't remember...who was leading the Geth?" Pressing on, he added with relish, "Ah yes, a Turian Spectre. And not just any...one of your best. So remember that next time you want to talk shite about the savior of the Citadel or the Quarians; it was a human who stopped Saren's plan and a Quarian who put a bullet in his head."
That's where the name Tali Zorah came from, Hao realized. She's the Quarian in the vids that always stands between Shepard and that Krogan. His mind snapped back to the present, Shit Patrick, you stupid bái chi! Now you've done it.
And Patrick had done it. Since Hao had moved between Blue Face and Mikhail, it left no one between Patrick and Red-White, the original instigator and apparent hot head of the group. The Turian grunted angrily and swiftly brought an underhanded fist into Patrick's gut.
"Oof!" The impact doubled Patrick over. But he recovered and shoved Red-White backwards into a table where a few Salarians were sitting. The Salarians barely moved out of the way to avoid having their drinks splattered all over them.
The rest of the belligerent parties reacted just as quickly. As soon as Hao saw Patrick take the Turian's punch, his own fist was on the move and connected with the side Blue-Face's head. Hao immediately regretted it when he was rewarded with sore knuckles and he cursed his stupidity for forgetting the Turian carapace. Mikhail reached out and grabbed White-Face, slamming him down against the table. The two Turians that had remained at their table scrambled to the aid of their friends.
Despite the pain in his hand Hao continued throwing punches, hoping to keep his opponent on the defensive as much as possible before the Turians brought their superior numbers to bear. Behind his Turian, Hao saw Patrick duck a blind jab from Red-White. Desperate to give his knuckles some relief Hao grabbed Blue-Face and brought a knee up into where a human groin would be. He was rewarded with a squeal unbecoming of a member of such a famed martial race.
A scream from Pasha caused Hao to turn straight into an empty bottle of beer an oncoming coming green-painted Turian smashed against Hao's head; stars appeared and he collapsed against the table. He struggled to right himself, knocking over a few empty bottles, but was grabbed by the collar and shoulder by the remaining two Turians, who pulled him to his feet. They held him up while Blue-Face slowly shook himself off and moved over to where Hao was pinned. Hao gave a shout which caused Mikhail to look up.
Mikhail saw Hao's predicament and with an effort he heaved his Turian off the table and directly into the three Turians surrounding Hao. With a triumphant "Urra!" he charged straight at the Turians. A second later his look of triumph turned to surprise as he slipped on a puddle of dextro-beer from a bottle the Turians had knocked over. He tried to maintain his balance, but his inebriated state worked against him and he came down hard onto the smooth floor.
One of the Turians-Mikhail couldn't see their faces from the floor-recovered quickly enough to give Mikhail a powerful kick to the ribs. This time, Mikhail's inebriation worked to his advantage, dulling the pain that would have otherwise stunned him. Instead, he latched onto the Turian's foot and pulled him down to the floor with him.
The other patrons of the pub backed away in terror at the fight that had broken out around them. A few ladies screamed as Patrick and Red-White struggled, pushing each other further away from their comrades and into the crowd of onlookers. The poor Quarians were held hostage as Mikhail and Hao fought a desperate holding action with the four remaining Turians, blocking the Quarians' only way out of the corner. In desperation, the male Quarians stood up and took a defensive position in front of the females.
"Shouldn't we do something Zal?" Pasha asked.
Zal shook his head, "You know how things are Pasha. Best case scenario C-Sec locks us into a cell for vagrancy and disturbing the peace. Worst case, someone gets hurt and they won't let us into a med center."
"But they're going to get torn apart!"
"Pasha, I like them. They're nice guys...for aliens," Hal paused, adding emphasis to his next words, "But we can't get involved."
Pasha tilted her head, preparing to argue the point; but one of the other Quarian girls place a gentle hand on her shoulder. Pasha bit her lip inside her mask and turned away; flinching from the sight of a Turian talon drawing blood from Mikhail's forehead.
Ray Kelly would have gladly given his other leg to have a free arm to wipe his brow. Instead, tossed his head back to try and get some of the sweat out of his eyes. He was enjoying the set, but his damn omni-tool kept beeping. He tried to ignore it, but the beep was starting to throw him off beat. Exasperated, he peeked over at Augusté, whose omni-tool was also flashing. Augusté nodded upstairs and Kelly could see some commotion up there; though he couldn't hear the shouting over the sound of his violin. He sighed, they'd probably have to end the set early and check out whatever was giving Cho-Hee conniptions.
A series of screams finally broke through the din of the band. Kelly turned just in time to spot something from the second level crash into a table; shattering glass, sending drinks and food flying, and causing dozens of heads to snap towards the upper-balcony where Patrick was leaning to catch his labored breathing. After panting a few times, Patrick stood up straight and disappeared; moving to return to reinforce his friends.
"What in the bloody hell, Augie?" Kelly asked.
"Aleia must have put them next to the Turians. Ah, ça pute..." Augusté grumbled.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kelly struggled not to laugh, "All right, I'll talk to Aleia about it when she comes in tomorrow for her shift. Right now, we've got to deal with them." He didn't bother to ask who 'they' were. Instead, he reached down by his violin box and pulled up a knotted walking-stick with an ugly knob at the end.
Quickly, he turned professional and began giving orders, "Take my shillelagh and run up the stairs and try to calm the boys down," Kelly turned to Kaltrienia, "You keep folks calm down here and make sure no one goes up and tries to join in the affray. Once I've cleared the way down here I'll take the damn elevator, I'll help Augie sort things out. Understood?"
They both nodded as Augusté grimly took the weapon he was offered and leapt from the stage, making his way up the stairs.
"Hurry up, you bugger! Before the wreck the bar upstairs!" Kelly could see some discomfort in Kaltrienia's eye as she stared after Augusté, so he added with a wink, "And try not to crack any skulls too hard-I'll need that stick to help with me limp."
To Augusté's surprise, the stairway wasn't the choking point; he did have to elbow his way past a few Salarians and Asari, but most gave way when they saw the grim determination and large stick he was carrying. Instead, he found himself having to elbow his way towards the action where a crowd of gawkers looked on.
"Smugly: I told you the humans wouldn't be able to hold their own," An Elcor said to a Hanar floating next to it.
"This one believes that the humans have already demonstrated resiliency by lasting this long against superior numbers and have evened the odds by removing one of the Turians with the balcony," The Hanar pulsated and glowed, continuing, "If the other is so confident, this one humbly suggests that they increase the wager."
"Indignantly: You are only willing to make that bet now that another human has come to their aid."
"I've come to no one's aid. This fight ends now. Go back to your seats and mind your drinks," Augusté said. When no one paid him any mind he angrily added,"Move!" And pushed his way past between the Elcor and Hanar.
A chaotic site greeted Augusté when he pushed through the crowd: in the far back, he saw a group of Quarians using an overturned table as a shield. To their front, the short, ugly man he had served drinks to earlier was throttling a white-painted Turian; while another blue-faced one attempted to pull him off. A few feet away, the Chinois was grappling with a Turian against the wall. The human had his back to the wall and was perilously close to dragging down the blue-white flag of Connaught; its human arm clasping a sword merged with half a body of a screaming black eagle. A human yelp of pain and a shudder from another overturned table told Augusté there was another pair wrestling on the floor hidden from view.
That accounted for three humans and at least four Turians. Before he intervened, Augusté's head swiveled to analyze the situation. When he was sure that no unwelcome surprises awaited him, he marched forward and made his presence known.
"That's enough!" Augusté said, batting the table aside with the gnarled end of the shillelagh. "I said, enough! Get off him!" He reached down, prying Patrick and his Turian apart with the tool.
It took a little effort, but he finally succeeded in pulling the two combatants apart and they stopped clawing at each other. "All right now," He said, turning to the rest. Before he could continue, the seat of a barstool collided with a sickening 'thunk' against his face; Blue-Face had let go of Mikhail and turned fight off the intruding human. Augusté's head snapped back and he could feel blood gush from his broken nose as he staggered backwards.
The Turian brought the stool crashing down towards Augusté's head. Reflexively, he brought the shillelagh up and braced it with both hands, catching the Turian's follow through. Grunting, he struggled as Blue-Face tried to put his weight behind the stool. Augusté's guard began to give a little and Blue-Face sneered at his opponent's fatigue. Augusté saw the sneer and made his move; he dropped to one knee and leaned forward, allowing the Turian's attack to throw him off balance. The Turian came down hard onto the ground with his stool out in front of him. As soon as the turn hit the ground, Augusté cracked the shillelagh firmly against the Turian's head. The Turian swore, dropping the stool and covering his head with his hands. Vindictively, the Frenchman gave another hard tap and the curses turned to moans.
Shaking himself off, he stood up and wiped a bit of blood from his mouth. His fingers brushed the tip of his nose and he winced at the jolt of pain that shot through him. Unenthusiastically he strode over to the flag of Connaught and roughly pulled the Turian off Hao, brandishing the shillelagh menacingly in case this one also failed to realize that the fight was over. By the time he turned to Mikhail and the final Turian, Mikhail had gotten the message and had relinquished his grip on his foe who lay gasping on the ground.
An Irish voice behind him spoke, "Well, ya handled yerself and these gobshites fairly well, Augie."
Augusté turned around to face Kelly, a nasty bruise already forming across where his nose had been broken. Kelly said in mock horror, "Christ, I take that back. Those bastards did a number on ye."
Augusté replied, voice stuffy because of his nose, "Took your time...the one on the ground there," He pointed at Blue-Face, who was still lying down moaning, "Surprised me with a barstool while I was taking care of some of the others. I think he broke my nose."
"Damn right he did lad," Kelly said, with a note of concern, "Here, hold still; I'll set that straight."
Without waiting for a response, Kelly hobbled over to Augusté, grabbed his nose and pulled it straight. Augusté howled in pain and cursed at Kelly, who simply said, "Aw, quit your whining, it's over now.
"Enough of that nonsense. Somebody start talking; what the bloody hell happened to my pub!"
"Excuse me, sir," A quiet voice coming from behind the Quarian men said. "We saw what happened, but I think these aliens could use some medical attention."
Kelly looked from the black-suited female to the seven fight participants; she was right. Of the four Turians present: two were in relatively good shape, looking sullen and shamed. One was still catching his breath, while the short human next to him had a stupid grin on his face made all the more ferocious by the bloody gash across his forehead that was spilling down his face. The Turian lying on the ground hadn't moved and he was sure that the one downstairs was still out of commission. Over by the Connaught flag, one of the humans had set a stool right and was tending to his friend, who was babbling and waving his hands incoherently.
"You, boyo!" Kelly said to the human by the flag, "What's yer name?"
"Murphy sir, Patrick."
"Christ son, yer couldn't have named ye more 'irish' if they'd called you 'Corned Beef McGuinness'. Let me guess, a Yanker?" Kelly laughed and put on his thickest accent, "Bah, don't answer that. You look all right; any major injuries?"
"No sir," Patrick replied.
"Good, then I want you to stick behind and explain to me what happened while yer mates go to an aid center," Kelly explained, turning to the two Turians who appeared unscathed, "That goes for one of you-what's your name?" He said, gesturing to the green-painted one.
"Basilus Duraken," the Turian said quietly.
"Fine Basil, ye'll stay behind and explain yer side of the story," Turning to Augusté, Kelly said, "You good to get the boys to the aid station down the way?"
"Yes, I'm fine; it's just my nose."
"Right, then give me back my walking stick," Kelly said as he took the shillelagh from Augusté. Quickly he took a Stinger pistol from inside his vest and slid it into Augusté's hand, "Just to keep things calm. I've got it set to non-lethal, but it'll still pack a punch."
Augusté nodded, quietly sliding the large pistol into his pocket and untucking his shirt to hide its protruding grip. He rounded up the infirm and marched them all away. Kelly had Basilus and Patrick set the tables and stools upright while Cho Hee and one of the other waitresses began to clean up the mess. Slowly the crowd melted away and the pub began to empty once it was clear the action was over and there wasn't going to be any more music or fighting.
Kelly listened patiently to the Quarians, hushing Basilus's objections, as they laid the blame squarely at the Turians' feet. He allowed Basilus to speak, then he listened to Patrick; who spoke quickly, mainly sticking to the Quarian's version of events. Patrick did acknowledge that the humans had been a little loud, but the one thing that Kelly heard in all three stories was that one of the Turians threw the first punch. He'd heard enough.
"All right, as I see it; this is a pub-it's supposed to be loud and noisy. Even if someone is particularly obnoxious, no man or alien the right to bash in another's face," Kelly said, looking directly at Basilus. "You have a problem with someone, get one of your servers' attention-you don't take matter into yer own hands. That's anarchy and I'll have none of that in my pub.
"So, I'll be adding most of the damage done here against you and yer friends' tab," He turned to Patrick and jabbed a finger in his face, "But you'll be paying the cost for that table downstairs; no reason to throw someone off a roof in a bar fight."
Patrick blushed a little, but was grateful at how easily he was getting off. Goes to show, he thought, treat people like people and they'll get your back. He nodded and accepted Kelly's verdict. Basilus, however was livid.
"You can't do that," He said shaking, "You can't seriously take the word of some filthy suit-rats over mine? Even the human admits we were provoked."
"Can and...done," Kelly said, imputing the command on his omni-tool, "He only admitted to being noisy-I already said that isn't worth starting a fight," He paused looking over at the Quarians, "And their word is as good as yours because they paid for their drinks and minded their own business-something you could stand to learn to do." With that, he turned to address Patrick again, but Basilus wasn't done.
"Oh, no you can't!" The Turian said menacingly, "I saw that piece you handed your pal and I know that it's against the new C-Sec regulations. I've got a brother who works for security," He paused and grinned savagely, "I'm sure he'd love to hear about it."
If he was looking for a reaction of fear or concern from Kelly, he was sorely disappointed-Kelly threw his head back and laughed heartily.
"Boy, you must not know who I am," Kelly said once he has stopped laughing, "I'm the bastard who sat in that window over there taking pot shots at looters and any Geth who got lost during the Battle of the Citadel."
He continued, relishing the look of confusion on Basilus's face, "I'm also the man who provides the Executor with his favorite Turian Brandy every month. And you think you'll run me in, boyo? I'd like to see you try."
Before Basilus could respond, Kelly brandished his walking stick, "Now get out of my pub, ye wingless turd. And don't let me catch you or any of your friends back here! OUT!"
Basilus beat a hasty and undignified retreat, running straight through a Hanar as he raced down the stairs. Patrick laughed, then asked, "Is any of that true?"
"Hmm?" Kelly thought for a moment,"Well, the part about the Battle of the Citadel was-local merchants are still giving me discounts for that one. As for the brandy? No; Pallin's too upright for that; I send the bottle to one of his assistants and C-Sec doesn't bother me too much." He smiled at Patrick and the Quarians, "But you didn't hear that from me, got it?
"All right children," He said to the Quarians, "Thanks for your time and helping me sort it out. We're closing up now, I think, so it's probably best you head on back home."
Patrick bid farewell to his new Quarian friends, exchanging contact info and promising to keep in touch. To his surprise, he realized he would try to keep in touch. Pasha and Zal both made him promise to forward their contact information to Mikhail and Patrick assured them that he would. Finally, they finished their goodbyes and Patrick started to head towards the stairs, but Kelly stopped him.
"So if I heard you right, you are celebrating the end of your service in the Marines, Pat?" He asked.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Kelly."
"Just call me Ray," Ray replied, placing a hand on Patrick's shoulder, "So what prospects do you have lined up for yourself now?"
"I don't having anything at the moment," Patrick paused for a moment, before deciding to give an honest answer. Mr. Kell-Ray, he corrected himself, seems a trustworthy sort. "I was thinking of heading to Omega or somewhere and trying to join a private security firm like the Blue Suns. I liked the military life, but now that the Eden Prime War is winding down, it's becoming garrison duties and I can't stand it. I want more action."
Ray practically started dancing when he heard this; this young man seemed like an answer to a prayer," Aw, no lad; you don't want to do that. Blue Suns and others on Omega are nothing more than glorified pirates. I should know, I was there when Blue Suns was founded," He tapped his stump.
Patrick's eyes grew wide, "You were a merc?"
"I was a lot of things lad," Ray said smiling, "But, let's talk about your future. You look like a clever lad who can handle himself in a tough situation. And I know you're looking out for humanity's interests. I may have a job opportunity for you."
"Oh? Tending a bar? I might drink up all the profits old man."
Ray laughed, liking the young man more and more, "No, it's more interesting and a lot more dangerous. I'll let my son Augie fill you in when he get's back-but you've heard about those two colonies that disappeared?"
"Yeah, slaver raid or something," Patrick said tilting his head, "No survivors."
"Not no survivors," Ray said quietly, "No one. Not a single body. Couldn't have been slavers; they aren't that thorough. This has to be supported by a government and its military...and which government has cause to target human colonies?"
Patrick thought for a moment, "You think the Batarians? The Hegemony has no love for us, but you sure it wasn't the Geth?"
Ray shook his head, "Even the Geth leave the bodies behind-or at least those damn dragon's teeth. Has to be the Batarians. And if that's the case and the Alliance won't get of their asses, someone's got to make sure the colonies have some way to defend themselves. That's where we're coming in."
He waited for a word from Patrick, but when none came, he continued, "I've got the connections, we've got the money; I just need some trustworthy folks to help us out. So are you in son?"
Chi bao le cheng de: bragging beyond ability, have no shame.
Seonbae: Korean Honorific, as far as I can tell I'm using it correctly.
Oppa: Korean, Literally means "Older Brother," but often used by females to older male friend that is near their own age-as well as between couples.
Mei-Mei: Chinese, little sister.
Yang guizi: Chinese, Foreign Devils
Qu nide: F*ck off.
Конь о четырёх нога́х, да и тот спотыка́ется: Kon' o chetyryokh nogakh, da i tot spotykaetsya-A horse has four legs, but still stumbles. Moral: Even most experienced (or most capable) people make mistakes sometimes.
Sad to say this-I'm going to have Mikhail say "brother" as since the fall the Soviet Union, "Tovarisch" or "Comrade" has become a little passé...at least here in Kazakhstan, it's more common to just hear "Drook" (Friend) or "Brat" (Brother). Never thought I'd be sad to see communism fall...
Samogon: Russian-Moonshine
Davai Za-Basically a toast, or "Let's drink to" "Let's Go for", zdorovye-"your health"
Dong ma: Understand?
I want to thank you all for bearing with me and my first attempt at writing. I'm sorry it took so long for anyone interested in where it was going. I'd like to give a big shout out to SneakyFox, Khelish, Bahoogasmif, Brains, and Frillycakes for the encouragement and advice. I tried to catch most of the grammar mistakes-but if I missed some please let me know. I hope you enjoyed it-I've never really written an action scene before and it ended up quite a bit longer than I expected.
For any of you who like reading other ME stories...there's a lot of OCs in this one, but one is lovingly and respectfully borrowed (with permission) from another author's work. Ye'll get a cookie if you figure it out.
There's also a couple of shout-outs to Irish music-namely "The Waxie's Dargle," "The Rocky Road to Dublin," and "Take My Hand." Look them up on youtube. They are lovely songs.
Lastly, I want to thank guys like Tairis Deamhan, Colossus Problematic, and VenomRed-your stories helped me get more seriously into ME and I love your work.