[h2]"Captain" James Castleton[/h2]

The mood around the town had the kind of simmer that set James' nerves alight. Furtive gazes and too-long stares had him crowd slightly to his group as he entered into the shade and shelter of the local watering hole. 

His focus turning to the selection of slightly familiar liquors when he became aware of the shifting mood of the patrons. Their ire seeming squarely focused on the trio of humans that had now entered the bar. 

The flying bottle was his first clue things were taking a turn for the worst. 

The marine deciding to retaliate by kicking a man charging at them was the next clue that the situation might prove more hostile. 

Then the scene devolved into flurry of limbs and splintering furniture that Castleton recognized as a bar fight. He wasn't going to lie; there was a part of him that reveled in the familiar sensation of flying liquor and ill intentions that bespoke of liberty bar crawls and nights of libations.  

The more sensible part of him recognized that fighting a hostile crowd of aliens that outnumbered him was not the move. Not that the dhasath that harried him with a chair gave him that option. 

"Hold on now fella-" He was cut off by springing back from the chair. A clumsy arc that James saw telegraphed through the man's intoxicated movements. James' counterattack left a familiar ache of pain on his elbow and the dhasath staggering away with a glassier gaze and an even unsteadier gait. 

The [i]whoosh[/i] of a bottle flying past had him rapidly sidestep; nearly bowling over Neri. A quick second as he corrected himself and pulled up dhasath woman as he took his bearings. 

"Beg ya pardon miss." His focus finding on the ad-hoc pitcher. A ruddy faced kiellar that had mounted the bar and drunkenly distributed bottles at random into the brawl. Common sense would say to leave the bar before this degraded further. 

"Hell with it!!" Common sense was definitely not on his tongue as he pushed to the bar. Shouldering past Dusk and hip checking the marine inadvertently along with a slim farmer type trying to scurry for the exit. 

His battle cry was enough to rise above some of the chaos as he tackled the kiellar pitcher the at the knees. The pair, James and the kiellar, both flipping over the bar top and crashing into the racks and shelves of spirits behind. The furniture wobbling dangerously before one shelf fell over with splintering glass and sloshing liquids. 

A resounding pair of pain filled yelps followed the toppling liquor shelves. James levering himself into view a few seconds later. A bleeding gash on his forehead and cheek; duster soaked with a variety of alcohol and some minor blood stains.