Obsidian Command
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Durak Neschastnyi...

Posted on 08 Jul 2018 @ 5:01am by
Edited on on 08 Jul 2018 @ 5:05pm

Mission: Character Development
Location: In front of Sam's Bar, Promenade

Dale tapped the guy’s foot with his.


He turned to Max with a slightly amused tone in his voice. “Your turn.”

“No way!” Max’s eyebrows were raised at his partner’s poor attempts at pawning off the necessary contact of the incredibly inebriated Ferengi passed out in front of Sam’s Bar. “That was barely even a tap!”

Dale gave him a mischievous smirk as he gestured towards their repeat offender on the ground and the drool that was dripping from his dehydrated lips. It was fun torturing the new guys, especially since he was no longer considered one of them.

The drunk subject game involved attempts at waking up the passed out subject. Whoever woke the subject up first was the one who had to do the article search. It was like the drunk lotto. You never knew what would come out of the contact.

Max couldn’t argue. He was the new guy. In the fraternity that was the FCPD he was just a probate pushed into a situation for the pure entertainment of the other officers. He had to earn his stripes. He let out a long sigh in defeat as he reached down, grabbed the Ferengi’s shoulder, and gave it a solid shake. “Wakey wakey, Mr. Reggi…” The officer tried very hard not to wince at the feel of the more than likely week’s old grime on the jacket.

A slurred snort came out of the Ferengi’s mouth as he awoke, moving his drunk heavy-lidded eyes up to the officer.

“Reggi, you passed out on the Promenade… again…” Max was well-versed in the history of the Ferengi who gave up on life after his rather obvious but unproven illegally lucrative business on the base got shut down by the FCPD detectives a couple of months back. While their officers were unable to charge him directly with anything, the man turned to self-punishment after the shame that was brought onto his family and the people of Ferenginar.

He decided to become one of the numerous chronic drunks loitering the Promenade.

Reggi’s lips pursed and smacked together as the Ferengi made a feeble attempt to formulate a coherent sentence with his slurred words. Max could see the strained muscles in his neck as he made an attempt to lift his head off of the ground. This guy was in bad shape. Again.

Dale was enjoying himself a bit too much due to past personal experiences with Reggi. “Looks like he may need some assistance…”

Max gave Dale a deep and frustrated glare. “Least you could do is help me pull him up…” He tried to keep his voice as professional and even as possible to the point where his jaw clenched from the effort.

Luckily the Ferengi’s beer belly hadn’t quite grown in yet. He was fairly easy enough to bring to his feet. It took more effort for Max to keep him steady while he cuffed and began his methodical search.

Dale stepped back from the pair in order to get the best view of the show as possible but keeping his hands on guard. With Reggi, (who was for the most part non-violent) there was always a slight chance at a bad reaction to the massive amounts of alcohol he had consumed.

Max grinded his teeth as his hands moved over the Ferengi’s jacket and pockets. “Having a particularly bad night, Reggi?” His voice moved back to his normal warm and bright patrol conversational tone. He had reminded himself that he had chosen this job and the bad parts of the job were only slight in comparison to the good parts.

The Ferengi murmured something completely unintelligible. It was a cross between a grunt and a spit-filled slur.

Max moved from the Ferengi’s right side to his left to continue the pat down. “I don’t know about you but I find that sleeping in my quarters would be far more comfortable than renting out our Brig…”

Dale’s eyes widened as the Ferengi let off a rather gurgly burp. Oh no, this was not about to happen…

In what seemed like slow motion, the Ferengi turned to look at Max who was knelt beside him. The gurgling continued and flowed into a bright greenish-purplish-bluish vomit that poured from his mouth and onto the right arm and shoulder of Max.

It wasn’t until the warm liquid splashed onto his now tarnished uniform that Max realized exactly what happened. “What the...?!?” He looked down at the alcohol scented liquid covering him. Jumping to his feet, Max’s head swivelled quickly to the still blissfully inebriated and unaware Ferengi who swayed drunkenly from side to side.

Dale couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh as he moved over to stabilize the Ferengi while his partner attempted to shake off the vomit that landed on him.

Max couldn’t believe Dale was laughing at him, at least right at that moment. “Dude, so gross!! I can’t even…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head in disapproval. His face was red with embarrassment. He was unable to look at either of the men in the eye and mumbled “Durak neschastnyi…” to himself.

“Whelp, looks like it’s a trip to the Infirmary for the both of you…”


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