It was quiet. The galaxy almost seemed still. Not even a single note of music was played in the old bar. Madesi liked the quiet. It gave him a chance to be alone with his thoughts. And the bartender of course. But, thankfully, she wasn't much of a talker. She knew of MAdesi's sad history and respected his need for silence.
One shot glass after another. Madesi didn't enjoy times like this. But it's all that makes him forget the pain.
Another shot down. Another drink poured.
And all he could think about was the good times. Killing people for money. He loved it. Not the killing, but the danger. THe adrenaline coursing through him like a fierce river.
What a feeling.
But it was all over now. Madesi returned to reality. Staring into the bottom of a glass.
The Collector had stepped into this quiet bar to do something that he finally had the opportunity to do now that he was a free and independent sentient - attempt to indulge in alcohol. But as he stepped up to the counter in question, he noticed a Drell who seemed to need a much bigger glass.
Stepping next to the Drell, he motioned to the bartender for a drink, paying for it with a quick copy of Triala's credit chit. She did have more than enough to spare for the evening, after all; and did have money reserved for him and the work he did.
He turned his head to look at the Drell and vocalized a message with his omnitool: "Drell, why are you overexcessively indulging in alcohol?"
The drell did not say a word. He simply watched as the bartender poured him his next shot. He lifted the glass up to his lips and dropped the shot down his throat before slamming the glass onto the table.
"He not the uh .. loquacious type. Rather not talk about it." the bartender spoke as she returned the bottle to the proper cabinet.
Madesi didn't even bother to look up to see who, or what, he was talking to.
The Collector continued to eye the Drell for a bit before turning his head back to the bartender in question. As she handed him his drink, he eyed it - it was green. So green drinks were usually alcoholic... interesting. Carefully, he brought it to his mouth, opened as best he could, and let the drink flow into his systems.
"Interesting taste," he responded. To him, there were undercurrents of something sweet, a little bit of sour - and the distinct tang of the alcohol. Altogether, however, it didn't seem to really have any effect on him.
The Collector this time received a drink of some genuine Batarian ale, uncut with anything as he downed the shot glass once again. This tasted far more pungent with the flavor of alcohol, but still seemed to not really faze him.
"I currently am here enjoying different flavors of alcohol, perhaps looking for people to discuss varying things with. What about you, Drell?"
"Not looking to discuss a damn thing." he said bluntly as he took his gaze off of the Collector. He'd simply push himself off his stool and walk over to the window, looking out into the distance of what was the Citadel after dark.
Faint screams of hovercars whipping through the air and dim lights far off into the distance where all his senses could tell him at this time.
It somewhat kept him calm and crom shedding a tear as he continued to think about his wife.
The Collector immediately noticed the significant increase in anti-social behavior from the Drell in question. Such was unnatural - particularly considering the fact that Drell were typically a bit more gregarious than such. Which was why he stepped over, turning to look back at the Drell once again.
"It is assumed that you have had an incident of what the humans reference as 'post-traumatic stress disorder.' If such is the case, I would be more than willing to help talk it away with you. Such has proven to be most effective through several studies."
Studies done by the Collectors... but they were still studies.
Madesi scoffed and chuckled. It was pretty laughable for a Collector to offer moral support. Madesi turned around on the balls of his feet and stared the Collector down. He smirked slightly.
"You know nothing, bug." He was speaking with a slight slur from the drinking. "You know nothing of pain, misery or loss. Now, I suggest you leave me be. I shall not speak another word to you."
A single tear ran down his cheek. He turned back to look outside again. A slight sniffle could be heard from Madesi.
"You assume much, Drell." His response was simple, in the mechanical tone of the text-to-speech. "You have your sense of self. Your individuality has, despite your hardships, not been suppressed by indoctrination or other nefarious techniques. I was neither gifted nor granted such a thing - it developed only once I was freed of the shackles that had been put upon my race by the Created."
Surprisingly inspirational words, considering the individual they came from. Despite this, Gregor was still going to try his best to converse with the Drell. Who knew? This could end out well.
Or not. It couldn't be worse than getting shot at in a club.