A Typical Night at The Bar

Posted on Sun Jan 4th, 2026 @ 2:14pm by Samanthia Akiashiro

714 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: The Hand That Rocks The Babe
Location: Dreadnought : The Dive

Music was playing from various speakers along with the big flat screen tv on mute showing a soccer match from Sol-3. Few patrons scattered about the room, nursing their drinks as they looked around the place. Two were quietly arguing about who was in the better branch of service. The typical Marine verses Starfleet Security.

Every once in a while, their voices would rise drawing attention of those around them. When feeling the eyes of the others, they would quiet down. Some of the patrons would glance at Samanthia as she moved behind the bar, arranging bottles of liquor from across the galaxy.

Some looked puzzled as she ignored the two arguing between themselves, expecting her to quiet them down or have them leave. They murmured to each other as argument escalated more heatedly and voices rose between the two. Samanthia glanced up at the two and moved to another section of the bar and adjusted some controls.

Other patrons moved farther away from the two as signs of violence was about to erupt as their language deteriorated and jackets were being removed and drinks guzzled down for the liquid courage for the upcoming battle. A few patrons quietly left The Dive for safer climes.

Samanthia smiled as she saw the first blow land. Security had punched the marine right in the nose. With blood flowing, the marine roared, shoving the table into the Security knocking him off balance, then moved in for close quarters combat.

The two fought with drunken rage and flailing upon each other with abandon, letting loose realizing that none was going to interfere with them.

Tables were shoved out of the way along with the chairs as they rolled about on the floor, hitting each other and trying for pin or knock out. Patrons yelled their encouragement to the two combatants and placing bets on who be the one to walk away.

Samanthia watched with clinical detachment, yet ready to interfere if needed to. A wide beam stunner if the fight gets too deadly or the threat of serious injury.

The two combatants were tiring from the continuous exerting in swinging at each other. and pain was finally getting past the alcohol induced haze.

After one last push, show of strength and tactical prowess, flurry of blows, they parted panting and wobbling to separate tables and flopped down in their seats.

Samanthia moved from behind the bar, carrying a tray that carried a wet warm rags and beers for the combatants. Placing the rag and beer in from of the two combatants to clean up and numb the pain.

"Nice fight. Hope ya feeling better..." Samanthia spoke moving on to the next and then to the bar.

"Why didn't you stop us from fighting?" Security asked as he wiped his bloody face.

The whole bar went silent, except for the music playing, awaiting her answer.

Samanthia turned and looked the Security in the eyes. "When you guys came into the bar looking like you were having a bad day and needed to let off some aggression. Why interfere? You weren't endangering other patrons. Only each other."

Marine spoke up. "You going to report us for fighting?"

Samanthia gave a soft laugh. "I don't need to do anything. Your bruises will do that all on its own." She resumed her progress towards the bar, letting her words sink in. "Not to mention the blood on your clothes."

The other patrons snickered at the two finding themselves in a situation of their own making.

"I'm gonna like this place!" The Marine muttered wincing as he rubbed a sore spot on his face.

"Yeah!" Security softly exclaimed. "You gotta show me how you flipped and tossed me. Not too many can do that."

"Give away trade secrets! Ha!" Marine gave a laugh. "You have some good strong punches. Thought I would never recover from the punch to gut."

The two moved to the same table to critique each other's techniques and finish off their beers before heading out.

Samanthia scurried about the place straightening up, carefully stepping through the wet spots on the floor. She eyed the few bloody places where the combatants had left their bloody imprint. She shrugged as it would dry and be scrapped up by passing patrons feet.

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