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Post by szarados on Nov 22, 2009 2:32:44 GMT -6
Bears are solitary creatures by nature, and he’s no exception. Drop him on a live planet and he can take care of himself until something bigger and stronger comes along or until he’s old enough that he doesn’t care to go on living. Szar may enjoy the company of others but he certainly doesn’t require it. There’s a certain confidence that comes with that knowledge that’s not at all gaudy or arrogant: it just means you don’t have to take grief off nobody.
"This and that. Salvage, blood-runs to Nox, poaching, whatever sounds fun and pays the bills. No bounties or trafficking. That stuff's always more effort than it's worth."
His last job had been bounties, and it had been more trouble than it was worth. It’s always easier to make a buck when you are delivering a package that doesn’t try to flee at every opportunity. “Don’t much care for the dark planet, but I suspect not many folk do,” he says by way of passing. Clearly he doesn’t have any qualms with what she’s put on the table, despite the fact that salvage, in his experience, turns out as often as not to be of the illegal sort.
"You pull your weight, and you get a percentage of the profits on top of your regular pay. And if things don't work out, we'll part ways at the nearest port."
“Sounds fair,” comes his reply as he reaches for his drink. Raising it to his lips and downing what remains of the contents, before pouring himself another half a glass from the bottle. “How many’s in yer crew?” An important thing to know when applying for a job on a ship that pays a percentage. More bodies means less pay.
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Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 22, 2009 3:05:33 GMT -6
"Nox is a planet, just like any other. A little more dangerous, but a lot more profitable." Disliking Nox wasn't an unpopular opinion by any means. Grace didn't have strong feelings one way or the other on them or their inhabitants. As long as she could make money, and as long as her crew didn't kill one another, then she was as happy on Nox as she was on Terrra as she was on Glacies.
"Counting myself, six. Excluding my current merc and first mate, we've got a cook, engineer and doctor." Any of those three could be a draw for Szarados, depending on what he was looking for in a ship. Grace could fill all three if she had to, but being a jack of all trades meant mastering none of 'em, and it was nice to have a few masters on board. "If you accept, that'll make seven."
If that was enough to hook him, then she'd reel the Were in and start looking for jobs that needed muscle. If not, Grace would have to find some way to sweeten the pot. Either way, he'd have to come willingly to be worth having. If that meant giving him a little upfront, or promising a larger percentage, then she'd do it.
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Post by szarados on Nov 22, 2009 21:06:43 GMT -6
"Nox is a planet, just like any other. A little more dangerous, but a lot more profitable."
“More profitable,” he repeats, amusement heavy in his voice, “right up ‘til the point that they lop off yer head and scrap yer ship.” If Grace had neutral feelings about Nox, it was because she had been lucky. Stay lucky long enough and you get arrogant, you stay naïve. The Underworld makes the underbrush of Nox look like a playground.
"Counting myself, six. Excluding my current merc and first mate, we've got a cook, engineer and doctor. If you accept, that'll make seven."
“That’s a hefty number,” he says thoughtfully. A body can almost imagine the numbers ticking in his head, figuring up the percentages; maybe thinking of just how many fellow crew would have to have an accident to make jobs a little more profitable. Easiest one to do away with would be the cook, of course. Hardly a necessity there. “You got separate bunks?” If she has an antsy crew, he will need his privacy. He can only walk around on two legs for so long before he gets anxious. Helping himself to another gulp of moonshine.
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Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 22, 2009 21:59:49 GMT -6
Grace barely kept from laughing at how serious Szarados was being about Nox. That was the thing about Weres, or anybody really. She'd heard the same attitude from fellow 'Lowers. Nowhere was as awful as where you were from. But Grace had been everywhere, and the two places that had nearly killed her had been Terra and Antheia. Nox was a place just like any other, assuming you weren't an idiot.
But she wasn't here to debate Szarados on his world views. She was here for a merc, one that would let her make some real money. Grace could shut up and smile pretty as long as long as he signed up.
"Less hefty than you think." She carefully pointed out. He was clearly used to cheap captains, making due with four overworked men fighting over the same small paycheck. Grace paid well, but she could afford to. She didn't snort or drink all her money away, and she didn't waste it all on whores. Her ship was clear and free, so was her base. Her biggest expense was her family and the money she sent home to make sure her brothers and sisters could do whatever they dreamed of doing.
"Communal bunk, but plenty of room. The engineer's sleeping in the engine room, and the medic's sleeping with me." Time to play another card, see if she could reel him in a little more. "Hope you don't have a problem with Weres or Dwarves. I've got one of each in my crew."
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Post by szarados on Nov 22, 2009 23:43:07 GMT -6
There is a rumbling in his gut. A knot that has nothing to do with the harsh alcohol or poor food that he has been subsisting on for the last few days. Though he can’t consciously place it, the beast caged in his mind is screaming its call of warning. This one is dangerous, it says. Where he might have overlooked her flippant outlook on Nox, the beast suffered too much abuse on the rock not to take offense. Wordlessly pacifying the animal that is as much a part of him as his right arm. The only outward sign of the struggle a twitch of in one eye, there and gone as if it were nothing more than an illusion.
"Less hefty than you think."
Contemplating her words silently and motioning for her to go on with his free hand. Szar has crewed on boats of all sorts, and of all sizes. Some of the captains were cheap, and others were too generous. Just as bad to have seven lazy gits on a boat as four men ain’t afraid of working hard.
"Communal bunk, but plenty of room. The engineer's sleeping in the engine room, and the medic's sleeping with me. Hope you don't have a problem with Weres or Dwarves. I've got one of each in my crew."
“Don’t that sound cozy! Momma and daddy, and the stubby cousin, too,” he replies, not without sarcasm. Dwarves he has never had a problem with. They’re loyal, good drinking buddies, and they know how to survive in a scrape; admirable qualities, all. Were-creatures, on the other hand, can be territorial to fly with..
'Course, he don't exactly have captains lining up to recruit him, does he? “When do we leave?” Forcing a good-natured chuckle as he shoves a hand in her direction as if to seal the deal. From the looks of it, he’ll be back sailin’ the black within the week.
[Rereading this, I realize that the post is craptastic. Meh.]
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Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 23, 2009 0:25:48 GMT -6
Grace kept her voice low. No point in bringing down attention from the whole bar. "Our last job brought in half a million. Now, every payday isn't that big, and that's why you get a steady wage, and a cut of whatever big we bring in. Two-hundred and fifty credits everyday, even when we aren't working. And the more you contribute to a dangerous job, the higher your share of it is."
The percentage was nice and well, but Grace knew that it would be the base-pay that hooked him. Most ships only paid when you were working, or made up their money by charging board and food, until there was only pennies left to be spent on drinks. Grace, on the other hand, paid well because she knew she'd make up for it in the jobs she took. They were dangerous, or downright unethical, but they always paid well.
She did snort at the turn of phrase. Grace had heard plenty, but never that before. Szar had a real way with words, sorta of off-kilter but still completely understandable. She'd let Klove and him figure it out on their own.
"Not for a few more days." She shook his hand, once again noting how big they were, and that hard grip of his. He might be troublesome, maybe temperamental, but Grace had handled worse before. She had a feeling that as long as she had him pointed in a direction, they'd be just fine. "I don't suppose you've got a padd I could just send our docking info to?"
(( They don't all have to be winners! ))
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Post by szarados on Nov 23, 2009 0:56:35 GMT -6
"Our last job brought in half a million. Now, every payday isn't that big, and that's why you get a steady wage, and a cut of whatever big we bring in. Two-hundred and fifty credits everyday, even when we aren't working. And the more you contribute to a dangerous job, the higher your share of it is."
Szar leans in when Grace drops her voice to a whisper. The background noise what it is, shouting and fighting and general merry-making, he’s skeptical as to whether he heard her right. Half a million was a sizable score. There’s a chance that she’s feeding him a line and there’s a catch that’s yet to come to light. On the other hand, if she’s on the level, the two of them could have a long future ahead of them. He’s not above letting his loyalty be bought. Hell, he’s been shot at for less.
His enthusiasm is veiled behind a mask of indifference and a stern nod of understanding. Can’t beat getting paid for what you’d do for free, and the truth of the matter is, he’s nearly stir-crazy enough to pay to get off the Underworld at this point. “Can’t beat that,” he finally admits. Lot of captains would have tried to hire him on for a half-wage his first trip out with ’em, and a lot of ’em would have walked away a few teeth short for their trouble.
"Not for a few more days. I don't suppose you've got a pad I could just send our docking info to?"
“Shite, 'course I do. I ain’t down to sellin’ my belongings for creds yet.” Shoving a meaty hand into one jacket pocket and producing a pad, awkwardly punching in a command. He may have one, but he’s clearly not the most tech-savvy individual on the station.
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Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 23, 2009 1:31:59 GMT -6
And she's got him. Oh he's keeping a calm face, but she knows she's got him. And that's all she needs. Keeping him will be easy then, so long as the wages get paid. And she's good for it. Stiffing a man his wages is just a guarantee you'll end up with a slit throat while you sleep. Or worse, if you're a woman.
Grace pulled out her eInkr, pulling up info on the ship and sending it to his. The Underworld's network was a bit laggy, and it took a few seconds for the info to appear on his screen, along with her contact info. "I'll let the boys know you'll be stopping by. Drop off your stuff whenever."
She finished her drink and poured a new one, offering him a toast. This was going to work out very nicely for the both of them and you couldn't ask for much more than that.
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Post by szarados on Nov 23, 2009 1:59:58 GMT -6
Grace has him onboard as surely as the worlds go on turnin’ or a man needs air to survive. He’s a body that goes where the credits are, and until the money’s too good elsewhere, he’ll stick alongside his new captain. ‘Course, there are some lines even he won’t cross: not for coin and not for glory.
"I'll let the boys know you'll be stopping by. Drop off your stuff whenever."
Impatiently awaiting the information she was sending him to pop-up on his screen before he goes to tuck the pad back into his pocket. “I won’ keep ‘em waiting too long. Nothin’ really keepin’ me here any longer than’s necessary, see.” Raising his glass to hers when she offers the toast, and since somebody’s got to say a few words, he does the honors.
“To wealth an' notoriety, and keepin’ our hides in one piece,” he says boisterously before he unceremoniously finishes his second pint. By now, even he’s feeling pretty good.
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Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 23, 2009 2:18:20 GMT -6
"I'll drink to that." Grace says and truly means it. Well, maybe not to notoriety bit, but truth be told, she wouldn't mind a little more of it. It's all good and well to keep your head down and survive, but there's something just a wee bit more fun about having a reputation.
She drinks as well, not nearly as fast as him, but fast enough. It's a good night already, but it's still just warming up. Grace tucks her own padd away, and glances behind her as another fight breaks out. Looks like they're going to go at it all night, or until someone kills the other. Life's cheap on the Underworld, cheap right up until you're the one with your guts on the floor, and suddenly it's the most precious thing you can think of.
Melancholy has never suited Grace, so she shoves it aside mercilessly and pours another glass. She indulges her curiosity, now that he's signed onto her ship. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you?"
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Post by szarados on Nov 23, 2009 2:37:31 GMT -6
"I'll drink to that."
In the right company, a bad reputation can be just as effective as a firearm. If people don’t know who you are, then its hard for them to fear you, much less respect you. Grace isn’t hard on the eyes, but she’s not particularly memorable either. If you want to fly under the radar that’s a good thing. Szar, on the other hand, is hard to miss and hard to forget. Better believe there’s a reason there haven’t been any bottles or fists tossed in their direction.
Pouring himself another drink but holding off on downing it for the moment, letting the last one simmer in his gut. If someone were to ask him, he’d say that he didn’t have a philosophical bone in his body, but he could empathize with Grace’s feelings on life and how quick it can be snuffed out if you’re not careful. He’s got blood on his hand aplenty.
"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you?"
He hesitates for a moment, considering the question intently before leaning in as if preparing to tell the biggest secret the ‘verse has ever known. “Truth be told? I’m big. Some folks would probably say I’m mean, foul-mouthed. When I got the creds I’m a gambler, and when I don’ I’m the muscle,” he says, a grin on his face the whole time. He may not be amusing anyone else, but he’s showing himself a good time. When he's ready she’ll have a look at what he truly is. Otherwise, far as she's concerned, he's just another man.
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Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 23, 2009 2:51:44 GMT -6
He says a lot and nothing all at the same time. If he's going to keep mum on his other self, well, that's fine. A man's entitled to his secrets. She'll find out soon enough. The rest is useful enough, in it's own way. Of course a man like him was muscle, that else could you be when you were that size? And a gambler, well. Certainly not that much of a shock. As long as he only gambled with his money, and not her crew's lives, then they would be fine.
"Sounds like you'll fit right in." Grace grinned, thinking of her own crew. Quillan would be scared shitless, but she was certain he was used to feeling that way. Kenna, on the other hand, would likely be more than happy to have someone to drink with. That was another thing Grace was going to have to do. They'd need plenty of booze to get them from Nox to Terra.
"One last thing. Your old captain. I'm assuming he's the sort of man to hold a grudge." And they always were, little nasty pieces of shit. "Is this grudge expensive enough to send a bounty hunter after you, or cheap enough to forget your face if he's not staring it down?" He was still hired, no matter what the answers, but if there would be a bounty hunter in the near future, Grace would be prepared for that eventuality.
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Post by szarados on Nov 23, 2009 23:21:14 GMT -6
Humans and were-creatures may be close kin, but there’s a lot more difference between the races than physiology. Their minds work on a separate level. Terran are quick to associate a man’s size to his wits: a big man must be slow in the brainpan. Were’s ain’t as accepting of such notions. The bigger the beast, the bigger the threat. No reason to delude yourself by thinking you have to have some advantage. That’s not the way of the wild. Regardless, Szar has long learned that the longer people maintain that he’s gotta be the muscle, the better off he is. Maybe he can change Grace’s mind.
"Sounds like you'll fit right in."
“I'm sure I will,” he admits. He’s sailed on enough boats that he knows how to make a square peg fit through a round hole when it comes to conflicts in personality. Badly as he wants to get off this station, he can keep any qualms he has to himself for the time being. No reason to rock the boat.
"One last thing. Your old captain. I'm assuming he's the sort of man to hold a grudge Is this grudge expensive enough to send a bounty hunter after you, or cheap enough to forget your face if he's not staring it down?"
There’s a spark in his eye as she asks him about his old captain and whether the man might be inclined to send a hunter out after him. It’s a look of delight, a predator relishing a past kill. Having sailed with a were for the last handful o’ years, she’s sure to recognize the look. “If I’m livin’, it ain’t for the slimy basterd’s lack of tryin’,” he grunts. “'Course, truth o’ the matter is he don’t have the coin nor the rep t’get the job done right. Soon as word hits o’ what happened to his last gun, I doubt we’ll see any more trouble.”
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Post by Grace Forjacks on Nov 23, 2009 23:55:41 GMT -6
Grace grins, can't help it. His glee is infectious, that self-satisfied smug sort of look she knows oh so well. It's not just a job well done, which others could mistake it for, but something far more uncivilized. A predator's way of saying I won, I live another day, and this mauled body proves that my enemy does not. She can get behind that sort of base emotion.
"Well done. I like a man who handles his problems in a direct and straight-forward manner." They tend to not drag their problems aboard, and there's nothing Grace hates more than on-ship drama when they could have settled their issues at the port. She's nobody mother and she's not zero interest in mediating trouble, unless the mediation involves a gun or airlock.
Beside her, Lealia sighs a little. Grace is honestly surprised she's let the conversation go on so long without interrupting. Lealia isn't the most patient person in the world. "How are your girly cocktails?"
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Post by Lealia Dappen on Nov 24, 2009 0:02:55 GMT -6
Lealia sighs. It's not totally on purpose. But she's getting bored. It's fun watching Grace for a while, but as soon as the fireworks are all over, then it's just small talk, and Lealia only cares about small-talk when she's directly involved in it.
But the sigh, whatever it's intentions, is effective and Grace finally looks at Lealia again. She beams, "Delicious and brightly coloured!" And theft-proof, but saying that outloud would just be tempting fate.
She racked her brain, trying to remember what the big guy had bought when he came in. Lealia was great at putting faces with weapons. Lots of customers liked it when you remembered what they used. Of course, some of them didn't and some of them got really angry knowing you remembered they'd bought an assault rifle or grenades, which was silly. That was paranoia for you. Then she remembered. He hadn't looked at guns which was odd because she'd totally pegged him for a gun-guy. But he'd gone to an entirely different section of her inventory.
"I sold you smoke grenades, right?" Lealia asked, leaning forward to see around Grace, "How'd those work out for you?"
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