by Neely Dobbs
CHAPTER 50: Coalition
Braang Pzorren tossed down the dregs of his third tall mug of Bajjelmeerian Tipple. Although it was recognized as the foulest brew sold anywhere in the Coalition, Pzorren was addicted to its slightly narcotic effects. Worse, it was one of the few illegal imports his shady business enterprise could not seem to find a consistent supplier for. As a result, he now sat angrily in a back corner of one of Xuudeloee's seediest bars. The vile establishment's only redeeming attribute was that it somehow managed to maintain a constant contraband supply of the thick green rotgut.
He wiped his hand-tailored jacket's sleeve absently at his mouth and yelled for another glass. Reactivating the privacy shield to assure his next comments were not overheard, he addressed the scruffy reprobates sharing his booth. Anger and his excess consumption of Tipple slurred his normally patrician speech. "So, whatchya two incomp...petents are tellin' me is you still got nothin' to nail that poh...posturin' pretender Ptorril? Bah! Whadda ya think I pay ya for? Get out! Find me sumthin good."
His glass of Tipple arrived and he brusquely waved away both its server and the two men, muttering crossly to himself.