[Deep Space Nine]
The assault was relentless. A continuous barrage that could not be avoided nor deflected. Vainly, they tried to escape but found that their path was halted easily and without compassion or mercy. Small eyes darted around the dark room, imploring for someone, anyone, to intervene - to rescue this victim from blow after blow...but their gaze was never met, onlookers opting to permit the now-hour-long onslaught on anyone else but themselves. Sacrificed for the greater good. A whimper gurgled up from the lungs, a futile attempt to plead for parlay...but this went either unnoticed, or unanswered.
Finally, through the slowly dimming haze of consciousness, they realised the truth: any further resistance was useless and the finality of the inevitable became apparent. Their eyes closed in submission, allowing the battering to wash over them like a waves on a shore. Perhaps, they thought, their experience would prove to be a warning to others, to save them from the same in days to come... As the world clouded over, a small smile touched their dry lips...
Morn, the fallen hero of Quark's. He liked that.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath the Lurian turned to his unstoppable foe...
...and continued to listen.
"-and then - and this is the really impressive bit - if you then add a touch of Denobulan nutmeg, the ethanol won't dissipate, but protects you from quite the head in the morning!" The blonde haired Human(?) Starfleet Science Officer gabbled away, his hand resting on Morn's armoured forearm from time to time, almost to ensure both constant attention and presence. "Of course, the same can't be said of the Boslic ale, known colloquially as 'the Hurt', because of the curious....chemical..."
The slowing-to-nothing pace of the Officer's monologue was like a splash of cold water to the punch-drunk bar-legend. Despite this, Morn was momentarily curious as to what monumental force could have diverted the meteoric chatter of his neighbour. Risking setting him off again, Morn shifted his large mass to look at the Science Officer, but was startled to see he had become somewhat distant and distracted, looking slowly around Quarks with his piercing blue eyes as if trying to spot something he only thought might be there.
Morn took the opportunity to plot tactics. Flee further suffering...or have a top-up.
Thick fingers pointed to the relieved Ferengi barman and then to the bone-dry mug sat in front of him.
After all, no-one drove Morn from his prime seat. No-one.