Montoya is escorted in with a guard, and as Pedro and Ares look around, they see the massive gash on the side of his lower arm. The arm, his left, held in a sling, and Juan winces as he sits and jolts the arm.
Ares gives him a smirk and says:
"You want to get that looked at by the medics in the SCRA?"
Juan shoots back a hostile glance and scrapes the words
"No, i'm fine, thankyou"
through his gritted teeth.
The damage only appeared to be cosmetic, but the lower half of the hand also appeared to be nerveless. He had been to the make-shift medical station down the valley which had been set up to deal with casualties, but with most of the Brotherhood injured, he offered to leave to let the medics treat the others. Therefore the dressing was hanging loose.
Juan's mood lightened after a while, as he ordered a beer. Suddenly, instead of drinking it, he poured it on his dressing, soaking it through and giving him more pain than he thought possible in a human being. He later said this was to stop infection, but Pedro and Ares whispered to each other about Juan's need to prove himself, even to his friends.
"So, Ares, how did you get all those medals? Doesn't really seem fair to be honest. Your languishing in the jewelers while were out doing all the hard fighting."
"Languishing?! Ha!" He flexes his robotic hand with a snigger.
"I suppose I was in sick-bay for half a day, maybe."
He laughs a little and continues, "No, brother, the medals are for valour... for an great cause. Ten victories over Asgard and Hellfire ships in recent engagements, several of which were considered high-priority or ranking targets.
Heh, I suppose I got lucky. Sometimes I think they really should've killed me. Then again, they'll be thinking the same. They really should have killed me... fools."
He offers a smile and says,
"Well, you might have suffered a setback today, but at least we have one cause for celebration, eh? No point getting upset about those Ghosts of Ramgrot or whatever-you-want-to-call-them..."
A pearlescent, spinning, 23-centimeter titanium globe floated into the Bar, and stopped right in the midst of the babbling occupants. The chatter dropped a few decibels in volume, and a few chiseled and unshaven jaws dropped at the sight.
*Alright, boys. Listen up! While you're all gathered here licking your wounds and telling war stories, I've got a wee bone to pick with you!
*My name is Mama Dis, and I'm with TAZ, your sort-of neighbors over in 49.
*I came over here two days ago to collect a little recompense for that little dance your new recruits had with one of our traders a few days back. Montoya was notified I was coming. And, my friends, this is no damn way to treat a lady!!*
Mama Dis spun over and got right in the face of the nearest boozehound she could find.
*Now, I've been sitting outside in orbit off 'n on those two days, expecting you all to buy your tickets for the upcoming Port Canaria Annual Dung Festival, as explained in our message to Montoya. Not one cheap bastard of you has purchased his ticket! In fact, Brother Costello had the temerity to tell me to bugger off! And these new Ag or AGc sodders don't even have a clue who the TAZ are!
*So here's what you're all gonna do: You're gonna line up, dig in those filthy greasy flightsuits, and come up with a thousand creds each for a ticket; just to get me out of your ugly faces! When I've sold a ticket to every bloody one of you, then I'll be on my sweet way home; and everything can go back to sweetness and light and the smell of stale beer and urine.
*Are we clear? Now, line up!!!*
((If you can afford 50 Mil to mollify the BSG, you sure as Thud can afford 1K apiece for insulting the TAZ and Koolmo. The Santas.y.Pescadoros will be outside Crete for the next few days. If she's not, PM me, and she soon will be. I ain't kiddin'.))
~Farquar puts down his Flaming Trader to regard the intrusion~
"But Mama! I bought a ticket to the Dung Festival already, I swear! You better put me down for 5 more tho.... I've a few Bounty Hunters in my hold, caught red-handed sneaking in from o-41, and I need some new torture to perform on them (harhar). Although I'm a bit strapped at the mo', you'll have to wait till I can collect on that bet from Alexandar." (ooc: I'm at work atm)
Dis "looked" long and hard at Farquar for a long moment, as the silence in the Brotherhood Bar grew deafening..
*Well, Hail Eris! There is a gentleman among you! And because of that, I'll extend that deadline a bit, and even give you an alternative.*
She floated widdershins just inside the cirlce of tables around the bar's dancefloor. (She "wondered" what kind of dances these croakers could do without tripping over themselves..)
*The Santas will remain at Crete until the Festival is due to open on Saturday. If i'm not in orbit, hail me on comms.
*In addition, if you need to run about to collect that pitiful 1 K per person and crewmember, then you can also get your tickets from any TAZ ship you see.
*Now, as Mr.Farquar here, and the rest of you probably as well are a bit tapped out from repairing ships and medical bills and the like, the rest of the evening will be on Reggie, and Waverly Enterprises, LLC. Kallisti!*
She floated over to the bar, and a small slot appeared in her side. A platinum cred chip slowy slid outwards.
A young but hardened looking man walks into the bar on Crete. Everyone recognizes him but he somehow looks different.
"How's it going AC, the usual?" remarks the bartender.
The man violently grabs the bartender by the shirt collar and pulls him close to himself. "Do not utter that name in my presence ever again... Do you understand me?!?" The bartender nods his head nervously. "The name is Torres, a Corsair through and through, I have forsaken my former appellation. You got that?!?" He releases the bartender with an abrupt and firm shove. The bartender straightens his colar, brushes his shirt and takes a step back, a look of fear and confusion in his eyes. "Tequila... and leave the bottle" Torres states firmly. The bartender then places the bottle in front of the man and walks away to attend to other customers.
Torres sits alone with his tequila and an anger and desire for solitude no one had seen in him before. He had been living here on Crete for some time now, and was friendly enough if somewhat crass. No one really knew his story or where he had come from, but rumors ran that he had formerly been a member of the Liberty Navy who had lost everything and everyone he cared about. Allegedly he had then turned to a life of crime. All anyone knew for sure was that he had shown up one day aboard a Coalition patrol and that he had killed countless numbers of Outcast pilots. You see, no one was quite sure why, but he had the most intense hatred for Outcasts that any Corsair had ever seen. For this he was now a member of the elite Brotherhood.
Another man wearing a similar uniform to his approaches Torres, "Whats with the hostility brother?" Torres looks up from his glass with a stern yet respectful glare, "That battle the other day with the f*****g SA. I am having some serious trouble coping with the fact that I only got one kill and had my ship destroyed in the process. I had used all my f*****g bats and bots on the G*d D**n nomads " He slams back the shot of tequila without even so much as a grimace. "I even went trophy hunting today to try and make myself feel better. I shot down at least one ship from each of our enemies and have their pilots in my hold right now, like I said... trophies. Maybe I'll go torture the Outcast, maybe that will help."
The other Brother shakes his head, "You got a kill didn't you?"
"Well yeah, but..."
"Then what the hell are you so pissed about? Now have another drink and you'll get em next time... OK?" Torres looks at him and then looks away as if to say "your right." He then lifts another shot, turns to the tables full of patrons and chants "Long live the Corsairs, death to all Outcasts, Brotherhood till death... HOOWAH." He then swigs the shot and slams the glass on the bar shattering it into pieces. The bar then erupts with cheers and machismo. The other Brother shakes his head, "What did I tell you about that s**t, you aint in the military no more."
"Sorry. By the way, when are we gonna go after those f*****g Ghosts of Ramallama... or whatever?"
<span style="color:#FF0000"><strike>RETIRED</strike></span>
ON MY WAY OUT OF RETIREMENT
A man walks into the bar, tall broad shouldered and dark headed.. He walks over the the barkeep and speaks lightly, "Whiskey good sir." and looks around the bar surveying his area, almost as if he was watching his back for something. Not a behavior you would see a Corsair exhibit on their home planet.
The man looks at a young Corsair woman who appears lonely off on the side of the bar, with a flower tucked neatly behind her right ear. He gets up and walks over to her, and asks if the seat is taken to which she replies no, so he sits. They begin talking and he introduces himself to the young woman, "My name is Miguel Castillo, I own one of the few small farms on this side of Crete." Seemingly unimpressed by the declaration of ownership, her glance shoots off to the side, towards a crowd of drunken men. Curious by her obvious interest in them he comments, "What is so great about those men?" he asks, to which she replies "They are the pilots of the Brotherhood, the defenders of our home." she seems to daze off all dreamy eyed. Striking out Miguel is disapointed but bound not to give up. Miguel stands and walks briskly and firmly over to the group of pilots and looks for the one that has the smell of command and speaks directly to him, eyes locked. "My name is Miguel Castillo, and I want to fly with the Brotherhood." he pauses with no change of stance and waits for a reply.
<span style="font-family:System">Michael Ross, Bounty Hunter</span> Has been hired for 1 assassination(s)
Has made a total of $50,000,000 credits off of bounties.
Has made a total of $0 credits off of enemy wreckage during bounty collection.
Screen shots from last employment: n/a
<span style="font-family:System">Miguel Castillo, Corsair</span> Has pirated 2 trade vessels.
Has made a total of $6,500,000 credits off of piracy.
Has slain a total of 6 enemy combatants.
Has forced a total of 2 enemy combatants into retreat.
Has been forced to eject by enemy combatants 1 times.
Juan Montoya eyes over the young corsair pilot standing in front of him.
"so matey, you want to join the glorious brotherhood eh!? Well, is it because of that nice young lady over there? She's a great one, and shes been looking at me all night!"
Pedro Maniaco cut in.
"Oi, thats my girl over there, don't you go taking my catch off me again."
"Sure sure, Pedro, whatever you say. Anyway, Mr Castillo, you say you want to join the Brotherhood? I'm afraid i'm going to have to..."
Pedro cuts in again.
"Come on Juan, he's not even had a drink yet! Sit down and get a jug of something, your favorite, all on our tab. We'll get to know you through that."
Miguel sat down tentatively as he did not expect the forwardness of any of the people at the table. The silence began to break as some chatter was generated, and before you could blink, the table was filled with the sound of roaring laughter again.
----
At the end of the night, Miguel and the others shuffled out of the bar. All those at the table, brothers neXus, Torres (who had cheered up during the course of the night), Maniaco, Montoya and Vandire had given Miguel a firm handshake, and a welcome to the brotherhood.
Miguel walks down the street to a remote hangar where he parked his small shuttle, a civilian luxury shuttle he had imported from Kusari, at a hefty price no doubt. The luxuries of being a land owner, not to mention an owner of a piece of what little land on Crete is fertile, afforded him.
Looking at his luxury shuttle Miguel thinks aloud, "That just ain't gunna do it anymore." He looks down at his right hand where he has a fully sealed bottle of whiskey.. 'I gotta do this right.' he thinks, and heads to his ship.
---later
Landing at a shipyard on Crete he exits the shuttle and heads for the nearest ship dealer and says, "I want to make an exchange." The ship dealer responds, "We will need to see the ship your are exchanging, when will you be able to bring it by?" Miguel points behind him and the dealer looks awestruck and responds, "That'll get you just about anything on the lot, except the Gunboats, those are a bit pricey."
"I want a Titan, the best you have with the best equipment you can get, and you can keep the difference between the vessels." Miguel says, "I'll be back in tommorow to pick it up." The dealer nods an affirmitive and hurries off eager to earn his keep.
<span style="font-family:System">Michael Ross, Bounty Hunter</span> Has been hired for 1 assassination(s)
Has made a total of $50,000,000 credits off of bounties.
Has made a total of $0 credits off of enemy wreckage during bounty collection.
Screen shots from last employment: n/a
<span style="font-family:System">Miguel Castillo, Corsair</span> Has pirated 2 trade vessels.
Has made a total of $6,500,000 credits off of piracy.
Has slain a total of 6 enemy combatants.
Has forced a total of 2 enemy combatants into retreat.
Has been forced to eject by enemy combatants 1 times.
Pedro Maniaco ran into the Lounge and gave both Miguel and Juan a short hug, claping them on their back loudly.
"Well, guys, you saved my butt in Cambridge today. I followed 2 IND traders, wanted to make some quick cash, but their escorts showed up too quickly. I was lucky they didn't blow me to several pieces before you came to help me."
He looked at Pedro Alonso, the bartender, and shouted: "Everything these two drink tonight goes to my bill, Pedro."
Then he said: "Well Miguel, you were flying that gunboat as if it was a bloody light fighter, mate. That was pretty amazing. Did you see how the Repulse blew up? I think I'm gonna need sunglasses or I'll be blind in no time."
Juan agreed: "Indeed, I was impressed too. And did you guys see how fast those IND fighters ran?"
"Yeah, that was funny. For too long, everyone laughed at us, but now I think they finally fear us. And the days of our glory are coming, at last."