Mir looks to Sloor... "I did not feel any pain, but then who can tell what being trapped in carbonite is really like. And I 'feel' that it would have been very bad to have attempted to free them at this point." Mir feels a little better but does not seem to dislike it any less.
Great.
"Saw what's the frecsing prawblem naw, then?" Sometimes there's just no winning, even when the frecsing force dice says you should be raking it in.
<Response Mir?>
But he does have a scoffing retort regarding their opponents, "I don't think the feelings were mutual, buddy."
"Well, that's what happens when you're too cancentrated awn... *awther* stuff, Mack man." He's a bit surprised the man can seriously claim he saw anything but Mir and her glass during the bits where he was actually *in* the party/throne room -- but hey. A grin,
"To ZayKar-Four!" And he toasts, draining most of the remaining content.
"What did you think, Darius man?"
<Response Darius?>
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OOC:
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Alcohol attacks Sloor: 1d20+6=8... What's with this weak ass  in your cellars, Darga man? Can't even get a decent buzz from the stuff!
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"If not them, who else can we blame? Be nice to pin the drek on the imps."
"There's a thawght! They'll prawbably want taw hawl these taw back taw base after the meet... Anybawdy gawt a tracker awn them awr sawmething?" Maybe this won't have been a complete waste of sweet, sweet sleep after all.
So of course, just at that moment:
"Incoming droid."
"Aw frek!" Adrenalin and booze (and a couple of smokes too): he's going to feel like hard vacuum tomorrow, no question. Frantic whispering:
"Everybawdy awt! Darius, Sra, you're uh - You're sleeping with the guards. Me and Mack are talking.... Gaw, gaw gaw."
"Walking down the corridor," furnishes TB's voice as they all scramble
<I assume>.
"Alone... It will reach the steps in about ten seconds... Hasn't seen me... Yet... I'm going dark."
"And I'm telling you: you gawt taw talk taw peopawl mawre befawre you make that kind awf judgement! I mean, you remember Kessra...? We really gawt taw meet that girl again and have a bit awf a... canversatian." Sloor starts talking at a conversional level, partly so that that incoming droid will have something to hear, partly to cover their various scuffing noises as they take their places. Speaking of: Frek, frek, frek, frek frek. No time to put the card back around Three Tops' neck! The besalisk drops it on the weequay's chest, tucking it under a piece of his armoured jacket and hoping there'll be time to fix it before TT wakes up. As it is, he's got just enough time to perch himself on a chair and tilt it back into a relaxed attitude before...
Possum said:
The silver metal of Darga's translator droid comes walking down the stairs. "There you are," he says.
"Hey there, LOM," grins Sloor, teeth a bit tight but bottle still in hand and doing his level best to breathe in a normal manner.
"Didn't catch your name back there..." He drops his chair back down to all four legs as an awful thought strikes him (for real too):
"Dan't tell me it's frecsing mawrning already?"
<Response protocol droid?>
