Your senses reel as you find yourself in a dark, grimy bar with a cooking pit sunk in the middle. In the pit a large, unidentifiable animal has been spitted, and is slowly turning over a bank of lasers running at low power. Squinting at the lasers, you recognize, under the grease, the armament of a Mark IV tramp freighter.
Suspended over the pit, in the middle of the room, is the bar itself. The barkeep, a morbidly overweight fellow bedecked with tattoos, has done a halfhearted job of stringing up a series of extremely harzardous Christmas lights in an effort to liven things up a bit. He leans on one arm, and ignores you as you walk in, instead observing the droids as they glide by, delivering food and drinks. A holovid screen over the bar blares assorted ComStar programming, and a knot of off-duty technicians yell and throw beer cans at it as they watch.
The décor here was once neo-western - a fashion that went out 350 years ago - but decades of neglect and fights have erased all but the most enduring features of the original decoration. At several tables patrons are gambling, though it's not clear what the stakes are, or even the game. A bank of holos across one wall is showing Elvis singing 'You ain't nothing but a Mad Dog.’ You wince at the volume and wonder whose idea it was to clone long dead singing stars.
As the crash of breaking dishes and shattering glassware mingles with the general rowdy atmosphere of the bar, a pallid youth with a cyberhacker haircut (shaved down the middle to take the receptor for a cranial jack) stares through you vacantly, jacked into a coin-op VR machine in the corner.
Most of the tables are taken, but there are a few vacancies.
Despite previous run-ins with the law , I strolled into the Cantina, and the bartender eyed me as though he were going to puke. I plopped in a seat beside the cash register and and made myself at home, throwing my bag to my feet.
"Ok, we'll start simple. I'll have an apple martini."
I shuffled through my bag on the ground untill I found a tube with a few improperly inserted C-Bills. I presented the C-Bills in front of him, snatched them, and began my poison. It tasted gross, like dysentery. I shifted in my seat as I watched for andybody I knew.
Fifteen minutes later, I was totally drunk.
"BARTENDER!!! MORE LIKKER!!!" I yelled at a nearby hat stand.
The Cantina was dark, grimy, and presented a forboding atmosphere that sent a cold shiver down my spine as I walked into its battered interior. Making my way through the rowdy crowd, I arrived at the bar, where several obviously-intoxicated customers, as well as a Legionnaire pilot, sat watching the Solaris VII games on a set of battered holoscreens.
"What've you got on tap here?"
The bartender eyed me for several moments, chewing on a toothpick that angled jauntily out of his mouth and wagged with each bite.
"Depends on how much money you've got," he muttered, wiping his hands with a greasy rag."Otherwise, we got beer, ale, and spirits."
The detailed nature of the bartender's response was staggering.
My senses reeled as the stale air and heavy smoke of the cantina washed over me. The music was turned up a little too loud as drunken crew members relaxed after a tiring day of work on Site 187. It was amazing this little oasis of rot gut and violence had managed to go unscathed through out the viscious fire fight a year ago.
I perused the room for a private table but they were already occupied by the droves of new technical and engineering staff members. Rowdy though they were, I soon found myself sitting at the bar. The bartender grunted to me as if to say"Order or get out."
"Whiskey, please." A shot glass was graclessly drenched under a torrent of whiskey and then placed before me."18"uttered the bar keep, the word nearly wafting on a belch. I slid the bills across the table and began nursing the shot, when in walked the new pilot. I hadn't caught his name, he had shown up pretty quietly. I don't even know if the Captains were aware he was a Legionnaire now.
This new pilot didn't look much, a little short and with a bulging belly, he seemed better suited for fixing choppers than for flying them. He ended up sitting down a few stools down from me, but I chose not to strike up a conversation with him just yet. He was no doubt here to get the baseline of the unit. If roles were reversed, I would have preferred being alone. I chose to loose track of who was doing what then, choosing to lose myself in another shot of whiskey and medium-weight match on the vids.
I'm gonna kinda introduce my character into the story-so-far here instead of just what I did on the old site. Just to get my other character started. Heh.
I walked into the cantina, the usual wateringhole for the Legionnaires. I noticed several of the others had already made it there and were either nursing their drinks or fixing to. I took a seat at the bar seeing as how the tables around the edge of the cantina were already taken. I was hoping to meet Krystal here but I had my doubts. She had said she needed to do some stuff with her 'Mech before she did anything else. I looked around. Evers was also sitting at the bar nursing a drink along with a new pilot. I shook my head.
Pilots. Never understood them.
I continued to look around and spotted Wedge. The old chap was back. A smile crept along my face. I quickly walked over to him after grabbing my drink. I sat my drink down hard next to him and took a seat.
Well, well. If it isnt Wedge. How's it going old friend? It's been awhile.
I extended my hand to shake the man's hand. It had been a while since the man had been here with the Legionnaires. He looked up at me and then after a few moments his tense face lightened up as it sported a smile.
Alex? Alex Thorn? I'm great. Good to see you again. What are you up to?
Oh not much. Gone through a couple of 'Mechs here and there. Quatermaster isnt too happy about it but he can get over it. I'm just ready to get back into action.
Wedge nodded in agreement.
I know what you mean? I'm ready to be back in the cockpit with you guys.
I had been in the Cantina for some time now, already had downed a few glasses of Rye and Ginger, a favourite drink of mine, and was still mulling over the confrontation I had with Captain Wolf earlier. Not that I didnt like the man, and actually come to think of it I respect him more after the little arguement, but he stressed me out so badly at times. There were a few times when I just wanted to lunge at him and pummel him into the ground, although he was quite a bit taller than me and with a much leaner physique, I dont know how well I would have been able to take him. I wasn't much of a brawler really, despite my appearance, I preferred to settle things in a fight similar to the Clans Trial of Greivance.
Anyways as I was sitting in the Cantina dwelling upon things I couldn't change I noticed a woman moving towards the bar who appeared to be a pilot of some sort, although judging from her attire not a die-hard combat pilot. I didnt pay much attention to her, couldn't even remember her name although I was pretty sure I flew with her briefly in one of the OPs I took part in. I didnt feel much like making conversation and simply waved a half hearted hello as acknowledgement to the fellow pilot before returning to watching the fight on the holovid. There would be time later for a better introduction, right now I just wanted another Rye and Ginger.
Turning to the bar tender I motioned for another round and slid some credit chips onto the bar, grabbing them up he sent another glass filled with the soothing drink to my seat.
Ducking into the Cantina, a wave of nostalgia washed over me as I took in its beaten and well-worn interior. There seemed to be an unusually large contingent of patrons present, many of them still looking as though they hadn't fully recovered from the ordeal of the invasion.
I knew I hadn't.
As the bar appeared to be full up with about all the customers it could handle, I made my way to a vacant booth in a dark corner of the establishment. Flicking the table's reading lamp on, I perused the menu, waiting for a server droid to trundle past.
My head snapped up as I saw Winston approach the bar. I had heard tales of his exploits within the Legionnaires, and figured that if there was anyone worth introducing myself to, it would be him. Sliding off my barstool, I muscled my way through the crowd, making my way toward the lanky pilot. He appeared to be consumed in thought, and didn't notice my approach. I gingerly cleared my throat.
After talking to Wedge for a while I noticed that Ben had walked in. After dismissing myself from the bar I walked to where Ben was and sat down.
How's it going Ben?
Ben looked up at me from the menu and nodded.
Ah. Alex. I am doing good.
I smiled and nodded.
That's good. What are you doing here? I woudlnt expect you to be here?
He looked at me quizziclly.
I'm having a drink. And why are you here?
I chuckled. I should have known you were here for a drink. I am here for a drink or two. I then leaned in closer. I am also supposed to meet a date here, but she hasnt showed up yet.
He smiled and leaned back.
Well I'm sorry to hear that.
I stared at the wall and clacked my tounge. Yeah. So am I
I flagged down a passing wait-droid, programming my order and feeding it my credit tube.
"Have you eaten yet?" I asked, glancing at Thorn.
"I can't decide if I'm hungry or not,"he replied, glancing through the menu."I think I'll just have the cheese fries."
Alex finished transacting business with the wait-droid, which trundled off to deliver its order to the kitchen.
"So Capta- I mean...Major...what have you been up to since the end of the invasion?"
I stirred my drink thoughtfully, watching the ice swirl in its glass.
"Assisting in the reconstruction process, mostly. Been spending most of my time in the northwestern quarter of the city. That's where the heaviest damage occurred."
i busted in the doors making one fly into the seeling and another bust the bartender in the face, turning at ben maxwell i yelled getting red in the face "all of you get down this fight iis ny honor duel only eith maxwell, i am here to finish what i lstarted on OP 1!!!!" [color=red}he nout came my bushidio blade exceept thit was now a katana because i had busted my old one in the op before and[/color]
I walked in seeing DEATH REAVER 89 holding a katana up to Maxwell's face. I laughed, shot DEATH REAVER 89 in the face, and reminded him that we're not in the Ming dynasty anymore.
DEATH REAVER 89 mode!
[color=red] i closed the dor as i ran in seeing the bartinder pissd and DEATH REAVER 89 hold up a katana! to maxwell face! i laffed at him and shoot him in the face, reminding him "were not in the ming dinestey any mor"!!1!1!!1!1 [/ color]
"Right then," I muttered, making my way across the tavern to the bar itself, narrowly avoiding the spray of brain matter ejecting forcefully from Death Reaver's sucking head wound. Tossing several pieces of eight on the rail, I motioned for the barkeep to send a frosty mug of ale my way.
I step into the bar, my prescence muffles the droning of voices and clattering of glasses but does not extinguish it. I stand in the doorway a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dank pit's poor illumination. I do not remove my sunglasses, instead letting my eyes work harder to acclimate themselves through the additional filter. Slowly the other patrons of the bar turn and notice my tall figure wrapped in a dark leather coat and the noise fades into the deafening roar of silence. My hands hang from my wrists, clad in fingerless leather gloves that were well worn. I tightened my grip slowly twice, the squeaking sound of leather tightening and stretching could be heard in the farthest corners of the room by the most inebriated of patrons. I moved my head from left to right slowly, scanning the room in every detail before moving towards the bar. Slow deliberate steps, my boots rang loud on the floor that had been veteran of so many bar fights, spills and hopeless mopping attempts to clean it. The sound peirced the ears of the more nervous patrons like a madman beating of your door at the dead of night. No heads moved as I passed, yet I sensed all eyes on me, following even the ripples at the ends of my jacket. The click of magazines, guns, buckles and anything else deadly that one might have imagined danced through the air with a musical quality, mingling with the hushed newsfeed of the distant monitor which was sheilded by a cloud of forboding smoke.
I took a seat at the bar on one of the less rickety stools and leaned my weight on my elbows, bending inwards on my own little world. The bartender, who had been oblivious or unphased (neither would have surprised me) turned and took notice of me with a grunt. He finished "cleaning," if thats what you could call it, a cloudy mug with a questionable rag and set it neaetly next to several others on a shelf near himself. He nodded his head upwards at me, momentarily reducing the number of chins he had as he stretched, he wanted my order. I spoke as I removed my sunglasses, folding them and hiding them away in my breast pocket, simultaneously retreiving a thin cigar. My voice broke the emptiness of the room like cracks forming in the ice beneath one's feet on a frozen body of water. There was no tension in it, yet it was in stark contrast with the uneasiness of every soul in the room save the disgusting barkeeper and I.
A shot of your darkest rum and a glass of your finest whiskey on the rocks.
He lowered his head in compliance and his chins multiplied again. He lazily scratched the back of his head as he went about his task. Voices crept out of the darker reached of this cesspool and eventually regained their former strength, the strength they had before I had entered. I light my little cigar and leaned back on my stool against the unstable backrest and took a long harsh drag, exhaling quickly. It was of no surprise to me that the caustic smoke and the surrounding air quality was not that much different. The barkeep placed the shot and the glassbefore me, I slid him my C-bill transfer card and picked up the whiskey. I sniffed it cautiously, relived to discover it was a brand known to me. There I sat, sipping on the glass, eyeing the rest of the room. Just killing time.
Wow that is really cool. I wish I was able to draw like that. And of course now you've got me wondering just who the heck those two are. You never cease to amaze me with your story lines Keith
I'm REALLY pleased that you guys like the manga/comic style post. I will admit its not 100% what I wanted - but when you've got "Microsoft Paint" as your only picture editing software, you can't expect too much lol.
I don't think that we have a more inventive Legionnaire here. Stunning that you can draw a picture so well with both words and a pencil with equal skill.
Drake makes a dashing entrance into the bar, highlighted by his leather Aero-pilot flight jacket designed in the Federated Suns tradition, complete with an ancient WWI style scarf.
Barkeep, a pint of English ale if you would please.
Drake gets an odd look from the barkeep at first, likely due to his somewhat extravagant attire and attitude.
Does Newcastle suit your taste, Baron von Richthofen?
Aye, that it does!
Drake laughs, amazed at the bartender's reference to the First World War's greatest ace, and the fact that a watering hole in the middle of the Chaos March would be civilized enough to carry an ancient brand of ale that predates the Star League by several centuries.
I haven't had one of these since my last period of leave on New Syrtis. Well done!
The barkeep grins slightly and then goes on ignoring Drake.
It was a simple task – travel from Tai Ceti IV to Sheratan to make contact with Site 187 and collect Grisham, along with three new recruits. Of coarse things aren’t always so simple…
“What the hell was that all about?” Grisham asked as he walked over from his hiding position. I remained silent as I watched Sakaki Kaorin and her friend make their exit.
“Sakaki Kaorin…” I never thought I’d see her again so soon. I looked down at my bleeding hand. I had completely forgotten about that special sword she had sliced me with.
“Are you gonna explain what just happened to me, or are you going to dress your own wound?” Grisham pestered again. I snapped awake from my daze and nodded. We took our seats at the bar and I held my hand open. The bar keep pulled a small first aid kit out from under table and passed it to Sam.
“So… Sakaki Kaorin… what’s her deal?” Sam asked the inevitable as he took out bandages and a pair of surgical scissors. I took a deep breath and sighed loudly.
“You’ve read the data files on General Ren, right?” I asked. Sam replied with a nod as he cut a length of bandage from the roll. “Well, I had planned to take my life to ensure his death. Ren and I plummeted down a rocky chasm, and it should have been my final resting place. However, under instructions from my teacher - The Great Elder of Valasha – Sakaki was ordered to watch over me. She hid in the shadows and when she saw her chance, she made her move and saved me from certain death.”
Sam wiped my hand with cotton wool soaked in TCP (a form of disinfectant). The stinging sensation wasn’t enough to stop my stirring mind recalling memories of the past.
“When she returned my unconscious body back to Valasha, she immediately took care of me during the months it had taken me to recover. We grew fond of each other…” I began to frown. I was now feeling uncomfortable telling Sam about private past.
“And then what?”
“Well, we grew fond of each other and quickly became friendly rivals. I taught her a few things about sword work and she taught me even more. However, when I found out that Ren’s accomplice Doctor Faulkner had also been rescued from the same grave I was meant to die in, I decided to make plans to have him arrested. When he escaped, I grew furious. I neglected Sakaki and immediately made plans to hunt him down…”
“Isn’t that a little harsh for a friendly rival to just come in and start attacking you?” Grisham raised an eyebrow.
“There’s more to it then that… it’s to do with honour of the sword… plus, I think she’s still pissed that her lover just upped and vanished…”
Grisham stopped dead in his tracks and wore a flabbergasted expression across his face.
“You… and her?”
“Yeah. That’s right.” I sighed, looking a little ashamed and embarrassed at the same time.
“Christ Kintaru, you certainly know how to pick ‘em! Just a little advice for the next time you pick your girl – don’t pick the type who knows how to handle a sword!” Sam grumbled as he tied a knot in the bandage. “Especially one who knows how to cut with a wooden sword!”
“It’s not a wooden sword…” I murmured, now looking down ay my bandaged wound. “… the outside is wooden, but inside the sword contains a micro pulse generator that emits sub-sonic frequencies that allow—“
“The simple version please.” Sam butted in.
“Basically it cuts sharper than any metal without having to physically touch any surface. If the frequencies are charged further more, she can cut things at great distances – up to ten meters or so.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“You certainly know how to pick ‘em Kintaru…” he said after passing the first aid kit back to the bar keeper. “What about the other guy? The one with the huge sword.”
“Him? I don’t know much about him. His name is Nero Akagi. From what I can tell, those two have been traveling together around the Inner Sphere for years. They are ‘arms for hire’, which explains why they were on Valasha for such a long time.”
“Nero seems to have quite a tight grip on her leash, doesn’t he? Why’s that?”
“Beats me… he was like that on Valasha too. He never raised a finger to her and let her do pretty much what she wanted, as long as he where and what it is was.”
“Kinda like a father then?” the bounty hunter said as he took a final sip from his glass.
“They aren’t related, if that’s what you mean. But he certainly exerts some level of authority on her.” I said, finishing off my drink as well.
“I hope it’s the last we see of them. I don’t really trust sword-wielding maniacs with grudges against ex-lovers, and I certainly don’t trust the silent, giant sword carrying type.”
“Somehow Grisham, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them.” I rolled my glass in my hands, watching the tiny droplets inside form into one ring that coated the bottom.
“Anyhow, don’t we have some business to attend to?” Sam reminded me.
“Of coarse, we need to collect three new recruits-“ A sunken feeling filled the pit of my stomach.
“Oh god… you don’t think that… those two could be among the three, do you?” I heard Sam say moments before I rushed out the exit door.
*