Weasel
New Member
Otis Jenkins
Posts: 15
|
Post by Weasel on Oct 21, 2009 12:56:13 GMT -6
Otis had just gotten back to the Underworld from a trip to Nox. He had gone to have some fun hunting Vamps and Weres since the Bounties lately have been slow. He hadn't checked his eInkr since he left so he wasn't up to date yet with the new bounties.
He flew his ship back to the Underworld specifically so he could get drunk at the Blind Duck. It was his place to have fun. All other bars were way too conservative for his liking. Once Otis landed his ship and exited it, someone Otis assumed who knew the person ha killed and stole the ship from came to confront him. He didn't even look in the short man's direction. He started to yell at him and Otis put his hand on the man's face and shoved him to the ground without stopping. He kept on walking to the Blind Duck.
He entered the bar and instantly some drunk girl had attached herself to him. She was hot so he didn't care. He sat at the bar with the girl and ordered the biggest bottle of the strongest stuff they had.
Before the drink came he took out his padd to check the new bounties. There was one that caught his attention. Mostly because of the reward for the body. Both the intact or dismembered rewards were amazingly high. He was probably a big deal. 'Unwin Visvajit.' Otis wasn't quite sure how to say that name. The drink arrived and he chugged it.
This Unwin guy was soon going to wish he had never been born. Weasel was back.
|
|
|
|
Post by Unwin Visvajit on Oct 21, 2009 23:25:00 GMT -6
Unwin was wanting to stop in at the Blind Duck after his newly added cast and silly little message fun with Enker. Another drink for fun. He also decided for kicks he'd send Enker more little messages, mostly just to annoy him. After all, he wouldn't be able to track the various eInkers. Unwin rarely used his for things like that. Usually stolen ones he managed to access a bit of his personal stuff through.
He had put one foot in the door before freezing. 'Oh boy...' He quickly ditched his plans for a drink and headed away from the bar quickly. He has spotted Weasel. He thought he was gone. This was not a part of the plan. No where did it say, have a fun time getting sawed up in his little list of things to do.
But now the plan was to hide, and stay out of sight for a while.
|
|
Weasel
New Member
Otis Jenkins
Posts: 15
|
Post by Weasel on Oct 22, 2009 12:10:34 GMT -6
Weasel took a swing of his booze. He spilled a little on himself so he laughed and the girl he brought with him laughed too. Then she was silenced by Otis' tongue being shoved into her mouth. He gave her a messy unattractive kiss. She pulled back after ward and passed out. She had been drinking in here for a while, the bartender had told him. Otis was still holding the girl up with his arm. Now that she was passed out, he didn't care if she was there or not. So he dropped her and she plopped onto the sticky floor. He then completely forgot about her and finished his drink. Otis looked up at the door as a guy attempted to enter the bar, then turned and left quickly. Probably some guy who was scared of him.
Weasel had that effect on people. They look at him, are instantly intimidated and scared to death. He wasn't sure if it was his reputation, his Mohawk, his armor, his weapons, his size or all of the above, but something about him made others piss their pants.
He ordered another drink and watched as a fight broke out on the other side of the bar. He just laughed and joined in the chanting of "Fight, fight fight!"
|
|
|
|
Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 17, 2009 1:15:15 GMT -6
The Blind Duck was just as Grace remembered it: sleazy, dirty, and with more broken lights than working ones. Were she a more sentimental woman, she would have said it felt like home, but there was only one place that felt like home these days. But this would make a good enough place to get drunk in.
There were familiar faces here. A few men she knew as long-time mercenaries, even a few who had worked short jobs with Grace. At the bar was a bounty hunter. What was his name... something to do with small rodents. Lealia would know, but Lealia knew every bounty hunter on the Underworld. He seemed preoccupied with whatever fight had broken out.
A few men left the bar to join the fight, and Grace and Lealia quickly grabbed the empty stools, knowing they'd be gone as soon as anyone else noticed them. The bartender came around.
"Vodka." Grace ordered, wondering how pure it would be. In a place like this, it would probably be shit, but hey, there was something to be said about cheap alcohol. Nothing else made her feel ten again, getting drink at Sweet Polly's place because her mom was never home and her father was long gone.
|
|
|
|
Post by Lealia Dappen on Nov 17, 2009 1:23:05 GMT -6
Lealia beamed at the bartender, "I'll take a Terran Rose!" She did love her cocktails. What was the point of drinking if everything was boring brown or dull clear? And luckily, the Blind Duck was one of the few bars on the Underworld that knew how to make them. Mostly because Lealia kept coming there to drink and kept on ordering them.
While they waited, she scanned the bar. Weasel was nearby with a girl on his arm, looking particularly happy. He'd been gone the past week, which usually meant he was hunting down somebody. She'd ask him about it later, but not now. She had a feeling Grace and Weasel wouldn't get along at all. Having tits was a real asset when talking to Weasel, but so was stroking his ego. Grace had one, but not the other.
"How long until you guys ship out again?" She asked, leaning on the bar. Lealia always hoped it would be a while. She really liked Grace, really liked her. And maybe Grace wasn't interested in dating women, but Lealia could always hope she was interested in hooking up again.
|
|
|
|
Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 17, 2009 1:34:50 GMT -6
"Not too long. Maybe another day or two." The Underworld could be a real money drain if you stayed too long. Not to mention, the longer you stayed, the harder it was to leave. It was paradise, assuming your idea of paradise was pure chaos. Everything was for sale here, and nothing was illegal. Dead bodies got shot out the airlocks, and as long as you had enough money or enough guns, you could get anything your heart desired.
Their drinks arrived. Grace took a sip, paused to let it sink in, and then finished the glass. It was good stuff, burned all the way down in just the right away, and even tasted pretty decently. Lealia's drink was pink and girly as all get-out. Grace wouldn't be caught dead drinking something like that.
"All depends on where my next job is. I'm waiting to hear back from a couple of prospects." When the bartender came back around, she threw down some credits, "Leave the bottle."
|
|
|
|
Post by szarados on Nov 21, 2009 20:21:45 GMT -6
The Underworld, for all its sinful allure, is hardly a paradise. There have been times sailing the Black when he had longed for the place, had desired a port where a man could fulfill his darkest desires so long as he had the coin. Too much of any good thing poisons the fun, though - and trapped on this particular man-made rock was no different.
Running low on coin and desirous of travel, his good times were at an end. Any punk with enough know-how to point a gun and pull the trigger could find work at one of the ports, but he wasn’t looking to sail with just anybody. That was the mistake he had made with his last employer, and one he wasn’t keen on repeating. So, it was that he had found his way back to the Duck. If luck was on his side he would find a job..and if it wasn’t he would at least be able to find a brawl to distract him. That’s nearly as fine a notion to him.
Pushing his way through the crowd, avoiding the scattered conflicts of other men through judicious navigation and virtue of his considerable size. Those who don’t know him don’t want to tangle with him on account of it, and those who do know ‘im know better. ‘Course, there are always the naïve, the arrogant, and the stupid to watch out for. Finally making his way to the bar and, soon as he arrives, reaching out to push a passed-out Goblin off his stool; let the green-skin bastard sleep on the floor. He’s taking up good sittin’ room!
“Bottle o’ yer engineroom Moonshine, Rosie,” he asks of the aging female tender. Far as alcohol go, stuff he ordered is the sort of thing that only the hard-stomached and the stupid brave go for. If you are a light drinker, it’ll put you on your ass.
|
|
|
|
Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 21, 2009 20:53:55 GMT -6
The slumbering goblin that had rested beside Grace was suddenly no longer at his stool. Instead there was a man. She looked him over out of the corner of her eye. It was best to not stare directly at anyone at the Blind Duck, not unless you really wanted a fight to break out. And being a woman wouldn't spare you a punch in the face. If there was such a thing as chivalry, it sure as hell didn't exist in the Underworld.
The man had a rugged sort of look to him, like he'd been carved from stone. And there was something in the way he held himself... something familiar. She let it pass, knowing it would come later.
The bartender handed over her vodka and she filled her glass, listening to the man's order. Engineroom Moonshine? Moonshine was always nasty stuff, but engineer brewed moonshine was a duel-purpose alcohol, something that you could get hammered on while using it to clear clogged pipes. It wasn't something you drank everyday, not unless you had some sort of death wish.
"Any particular occasion?" She asked, slightly curious.
|
|
|
|
Post by szarados on Nov 21, 2009 21:40:23 GMT -6
Szar could feel the eyes on him, boring into his back. An entrance like his was sure to generate at least a little excitement. Those who had seen him tip the goblin off his perch were hopeful that the green-lad would jump up and try to cut the bear of a man who had disturbed him. Unfortunately for them, that’s not what happens. A grin splitting his hard features as he hears someone that thinks they are out of his hearing range mutter a veiled “who does he think he is?”
His head pivoting to look down the length of the bar to his cowardly detractor, staring at the man just long enough for him to look away respectfully before turning his attention back to his drink. The clear liquid has a pungent smell to it that warns a body to avoid it, but he’s never been one to listen to voices of reason. Lifting the pint to his lips and downing a healthy mouthful, the motion putting the scars around his neck on display. From the look of ‘em, somebody at some distant point had very nearly taken his head off. Fact that he’s still rollin’ on is enough to make a man wonder what happened to the bastard who’d done that to him.
"Any particular occasion?"
“None ‘cept I’m runnin’ low on coin and without a job to speak of. Afraid I’m gonna drink ‘em out of stock?” he asks as he gives Grace a once over. There’s a keen intelligence to his tan eyes that’s not reflected in his earthy voice or rural dialect. Drawing what conclusions he can about her in that moment: she knows how to hide out under the radar and she can handle her own business. That much is evidenced by her attire and the fact that she’s a woman not being pestered by the rats on this gods-forsaken station.
|
|
|
|
Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 21, 2009 22:06:56 GMT -6
Looking straight at him, she could take in more details. Rough hands, and scars that wrapped around his neck. She knew his type, liked his type. Here was a man who knew how to get things done.
"Should I be?" She grinned. He certainly wasn't taking it slow if he was drinking moonshine by the pint. It wouldn't shock her to find out there was copper piping deep in those guts of his, or an artificial kidney like Grace had. Or maybe-
His eyes were just off enough that she could make the connection. A Were, which certainly explained the ability to drink what could kindly be called sweetened drain cleaner, and the scars just peeking out of his collar. Grace took another sip of vodka, evaluation what he'd told her verbally and physically.
"I can't believe you'd be out of work." Grace decided to test the waters, find out why he was drinking away the last of his savings at the bar. "You don't look like a slackass, or a trouble-starter."
|
|
|
|
Post by szarados on Nov 21, 2009 22:40:52 GMT -6
"Should I be?"
“Depends on if you got any engine parts need cleanin’. You don’t seem the sort to drink the stuff yerself,” he concludes. Letting his pint glass come to rest on the bar alongside the bottle that he had ordered, idly swirling the contents as he keeps his attention focused on Grace. The muck under his fingernails showing plain against the mostly clean glass. Some combination of dirt and blood that’s less the former than the latter. He’s not a nice guy when you cross him, however amiable he may seem at the moment.
"I can't believe you'd be out of work. You don't look like a slackass, or a trouble-starter."
Szar can tell that she’s fishing, but he can’t help but grab at the bait. He’s too hungry to get off this station not to. “An’ here I took you fer a bright, well-connected kinda girl,” narrowing his eyes a little as he chuckles. “Ask around some. Lot of people’d tell you I’m more trouble’n I’m worth. Last Cap’n I sailed under was looking for some company,” taking a sip of his booze as he tells his story, “an’ found a girl he took a fancy too. Problem was she wasn’t a workin’ girl, y’know what I mean? Well, he wasn’t the kind took kindly to bein’ told ‘no.’ I happened on ‘im before he could do the job.” Snorting derisively at the memory, and giving a shake of his head.
“There’s just some shite even I won’t put up with. I broke a couple o’ bones, but left him mostly in one piece. For old time’s sake. Didn’t keep me from bein’ left here.” Giving a shrug of his broad shoulders as if to say there’s nothing more to be said about it. It’s a rare hired gun that won’t do just about anything that they feel at the time, so long as it benefits them.
“Moral of the story’s I ain’t a dog stays on the leash,” he says with a curt little nod to her before he takes another sip of his moonshine.
|
|
|
|
Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 21, 2009 23:05:23 GMT -6
"You'd be surprised what I drink when the mood takes me." Normally she would prove her point, take a glass of the rotgut and let it burn all through her. But she's not in a mood to get too fiked up, not without Klove to watch her back. Lealia is fun to drink with, and she's no stranger with a gun, but she's not Klove. And Grace already knows what kind of drunk she is. The kind who can't shoot for shit.
The story's familiar enough. Troubles with the captain, though in this case, it's less a problem with authority and more a problem with how the captain used his authority. She knows the kind of man he's talking about, so small in the mind (and other bits) that he takes out his own problems on any girl who doesn't bow. Grace knew how to deal with such men. So did her burly friend.
"Sounds like a fitting moral to me." Grace held out a hand, "Grace Forjacks, captain of the Queen of Spades. You're looking for a ship? I'm always looking for a good man."
|
|
|
|
Post by Lealia Dappen on Nov 21, 2009 23:10:52 GMT -6
It was always fun to watch Grace go to work. Lealia sipped her own drink and listened as she and the big guy talked. Lealia recognized him, but couldn't figure out where she knew him from. Once he told the story about his old captain, she realized that she had heard the story. He'd nearly killed the captain, beaten him to a pulp.
She thought about piping up, but decided to wait and see where else this went. It was kinda funny. Lealia sold weapons for a living, and let her reputation get around to do all the hard work for her. But Grace had to keep her reputation low and quiet to keep the military and the mob goons off her back, so she couldn't do that. She had to sell herself based only on her personality, and her ship. And it was really fun to watch her do that.
Lealia finished her drink and ordered another, waiting to see if the violent guy would keep taking her bait.
|
|
|
|
Post by szarados on Nov 21, 2009 23:42:45 GMT -6
"You'd be surprised what I drink when the mood takes me."
Szar doesn’t have much to say to that, so he simply raises his own glass as if in toast to the notion. There’s a lot of humans who only turn to the stuff as a last resort, and he has her pegged as one of those. He would probably stick to vodka himself if he could afford enough of the stuff to put him in that good place that he’s looking for.
Insofar as Lealia goes, he’s barely aware that she’s present. He may have met her once when he was buying a weapon a long time ago, but truth be told, he’s not much the sort to let tools do the killin’ for him. The best weapons he owns are his teeth and his claws, and while he can fire a gun passably or hack and slash with a knife, there’s nothing like doing it the natural way. The way he had been born to kill. So, aside from being aware that she is probably listening in, he’s otherwise neutral towards the woman.
"Sounds like a fitting moral to me. Grace Forjacks, captain of the Queen of Spades. You're looking for a ship? I'm always looking for a good man."
Begrudgingly, he lets his hand leave his alcohol for the first time since it was placed in front of him, when Grace offers hers. Flexing it once as if to be sure he won’t squeeze hers too hard before he takes it. If he wanted to, he could do a fair job breaking bones and just otherwise acting as a were-meat-tenderizer. ‘Course, that wouldn’t exactly serve his purpose. “Emil Szarados,” he says simply. “What kinda work is it you do?”
|
|
|
|
Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 22, 2009 0:05:28 GMT -6
His grip was like iron. Whatever he was, it was big. Perfect. The handshake didn't last too long. He didn't seem like the sort who relished being touched. Fair enough. As long as he could fight, and she was fairly certain he could, then he could keep to himself as much as he pleased.
"This and that. Salvage, blood-runs to Nox, poaching, whatever sounds fun and pays the bills." It was always good to be honest, up to a point of course. "No bounties or trafficking. That stuff's always more effort than it's worth." And against her morals, but Grace wouldn't be announcing that one.
"You pull your weight, and you get a percentage of the profits on top of your regular pay." That was more than other ships could promise. You'd either get the percentage or the regular pay, but not both. Grace didn't mind giving away the extra money to keep the crew happy. "And if things don't work out, we'll part ways at the nearest port."
|
|
