A scraggly looking mid-twenties guy stumbles in. Trips over himself and lands on his ass laughing.
"Aw dang! 'Nother ion storm *hic*" he lights a hand rolled cigarette and slowly staggers to his feet. He pulls a shiny flask out of his oily jacket and starts to drink it when the bartender notices.
"Hey, you gonna drink it in here, you gotta BUY it in here!" he hollers. The dude stumble-skips to the bar in a playful manner, then slaps the flask on the bar.
"Here-ah! You can have isth. I got if of some Rheinlander. I... I think thass where I got it. Mebbe Kusari? Eh, who gives a damn? Iss yours now! Haw haw!"
The Bartender pockets the flask without looking much at it, and asks, "What's your name? Huh? I've never seen you here before, you a junker? What's your name?"
"Naaaaah, not really. I'm juss freelancin' right now untill I can find some steady *hic*..... uhhhh... What were we.... oh yeah! Steady work! Yeah! John's the name! Of the Champion fambly! John... Champion! Hawaw! But hey! You can giff me a coffee though. Pour some jet-fuel in that sucker too!"
John takes his drink, and stumbles to the nearest booth and proceeds to stare deeply into his drink with a large grin on his face. After a minute he slams back his drink and stumbles out, muttering about crossing the embargo line into Rheinland.
George Rothwell stepped from his slightly dated ship and strolled through the cold, narrow passages that led to the bar aboard Rochester. He did not even stop to talk to one of his oldest friends. Upon entry to the bar, everyone turned to look, as they often did to Roboticly Enhanced Fellows such as George. No one knew the story of how George lost nearly half his body but everyone knew not to mess with him as the right side of his body could kick some real arse.
He went to the nearest free space on the counter and ordered his usual, a Rum in his custom Tankard that he was awarded after he saved two people from a fire aboard Rochester.
Whilst drinking his Rum a rather large poster on the advertisement board caught his eye, he went over to it to have a closer look.
"Oxygen Recirculator for a DL-Series Transport, eh? Well luck has it I have two of those available."
He took down the communications frequency on to a piece of scrap paper and shoved it into his pocket.
"Ah shove it, I might as well leave a note on the airlock of that rather fine looking destroyer outside."
He limped out of the bar quite clearly in some discomfort, but that wasn't really unexpected when most of the right side of your body has been replaced by a robotic exoskeleton.
George continued through the passages until he reached the Airlock level, he knew exactly which one Evangeline's ship would be moored too as it was the biggest one Rochester had, also he had seen where it was moored on his flight in...
The Outer Airlock door to the link tube slid open as the tube pressurised, he moved slowly along it trying to make it not wobble around so much that he would lose his balance. He reached the Airlock of the Destroyer and drew a note from his pocket, he knocked on the door. He was surprised to see a small girl standing on the other side of the airlock once it had finally opened.
"Uhh..Hullo there, I've got a note for Evangeline, could you pass it onto her?"
He passed the note which read:
The girl scurried off into the darkness and the airlock shut. George returned to the bar to get another Rum and wait to be contacted.
Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid. - David Hackworth (1930 - 2005)
A man strolled into the room and found a spot by the bar to lean on while he ordered a drink. He wore a brown leather flight jacket, dark cargo pants and high top boots made of canvas with plastic and alloy plate guards at the toes and heels. Around his waist a metal pistol holster on a loose leather belt. In one hand he held an old battered flight helmet with formal rank markings scratched beyond recognition.
He put his helmet on the bar as the tender came to acknowlege him.
"Y'may wanna' keep that.." the bartender nodded to the helmet "..outta' pryin' eyes....sir"
The man turned around to realise he'd walked into a bar accustomed to rogues and pirates, some of which he recognised, but luckily didn't seem to recognise him.
He turned back around and picked up his helmet from the bar before propping it on one of the bar stools out of sight.
"I seen them markin's before mister, I knew him. So you didn' take it from him wrong.." the bartender leaned closer and lowered his voice "..but there's people who'd think otherwise, jealous kind, crooks. We may have knew him and I mean no disrespect son, but you bring trouble to my house and your the same'z 'em. Just think twice before orderin' a drink friend.
The man who'd walked in earlier sat at one of the center tables turning a crystal whisky glass in his hand. Since his arrival the bar seemed to have died down, alot of people leaving or falling asleep on their drinks. The man sighed and pushed himself away from the table to stand. On the way out a recruitment poster caught his eye with three clear letters "DSE" printed in the forground. The man took the poster and folded it away into his coat pocket before leaving the way he'd entered hours ago.
Some bangs and the chattering of steel could be heard from behind the door entering the Rochester Inn Bar which lead to the hangar. Moments after, a tall silhouette stood at the doorway with two large 'sack-like' objects dragged behind him one in each hand, with the opening of the sliding doors and his first steps into the room, the figure swung forward his arms, dumping before him two men!? Both were tied up by the arms and legs with some rope tied into a small noose at a loose end to be able to pull them about. One man was unconscious, the other lay there attempting to open the bloody-mess he called an eye to peer about and see where regain his bearings however as he did so, a boot emerged from behind a dark trench-coat and pressed down on the back of the victims head squashing his face.
"There, there! Still! I said!"... The voice was low, slightly sinister, however it had authority to it and seeing the position the man was in at the moment, gave him a a dark aura, one of power!
A few bystanders having a quiet drink or a shady conversation in the corners of this tavern watched the situation unfold, others peered subtlety at the scene and looked away to avoid any issues or unwanted questions. Upon further inspection of the bodies, the limp one seemed to be of Junker affiliation, whoever this man was, he knew what he was doing... I mean, walking into a Junker affiliated station, carrying a Junker as your prisoner and dragging him into the inn? Surely that wasn't the smartest of decisions? The mysterious man walked forward dragging the limp body forward and sitting it at the foot of the bar, he seemed dead. The disturber of the peace glanced up passed the rim of his cap, and adjusted his thin-scarf which was now shrouding his nose and mouth like a bandana, it provided the man with anonymity, he ran his finger along its and adjusted it at the nose, he caught the faces of the onlookers and barkeep.
"Don't worry, he's just sedated. Pretty heavily sedated... Using a rather unconventional method, animal tranquilliser, applied through intravenous... *He pulled a ghastly smirk* Oh well, it does the job... Now I came in here for a drink, and it wouldn't be smart to dispose of a Junker and bring him to his own base if I wanted a drink and no trouble would it? He should be up in an hour or so, as for the other one..." *He glanced over his shoulder at the other man who lay there whimpering trying to retain his moans* He never finished his sentence...."Now, a hard whiskey please, if you may Barkeep, Thank you". He sat down and grabbed the drink which was silently poured and nudged towards him at the bar, by a very shaky and nervously perspiring barman. As he set the glass to his lips to take a swig, he was very conscious of the conversations in the room, murmurs and whispers "Who's that?, Should we inform anyone? No,No, just let the incident be!" those words could be heard quietly being muttered. The man grinned from behind his shrouded face, you could see the expression in his eyes.
"Thank you very much..." His accent was different, indistinguishable, it hadn't been heard before, rather odd and almost broad at times but with an elegance about it which showed respect and knowledge in his vocabulary. On finishing his drink the man stood, and lifted the arms of the sedated 'corpse' at his side still sleeping against the bar sat on the floor, he reached over his head towards the back of his neck by his shoulderblades, and drew from behind his back a beautifully never before seen Obsidian-Edged, Black Stone Blade which glistened with the lights as it whistled leaving its sheath. Everyone turned to the sound, and with a quick swipe he had untied the Junker which still lay knocked out. "Apologies for the disturbance", the man looked up at the man behind the bar and glanced around the room... "I'll cause no trouble, I'm just going to make my way to my ship for a lie down and a smoke, I'll be on my way in a while..." He left the tavern grabbing the other man by the rope on his feet and dragging him out of the tavern, his hands bound to his feet awkwardly and they both made out passed the sliding doors, the sound of metal boots clanking and a dragging lump behind it.
As the man left, sound one again filled the Rochester Inn, some freelancers sat at the end of the bar broke the silence, "Hey! That man on the ground! I'm certain I saw a Police badge on the man?!" Another man at his side signalled him to be quiet, within seconds conversation once again broke out in the inn and no one seemed to question anything, some nearby guests aided the barkeep in picking up the junker and sitting him on a chair pouring water over his face. Another attendant approached the spot where the 'police' once lay and mopped up a puddle of blood which came as a result of the mans' deep cut above his eye. People did take notice of this man who lay in pain, but no one dared really intervene, it was all a bit of a shock to the bars atmosphere, anyhow something wasn't right.
It's not too often that rumors of this magnitude catch the eyes of the Junker Congress. Upon hearing rumors that a possible madman had dragged the corpse of an LPI officer into the bar on Rochester Wild Bill personally made a trip to investigate. Upon arriving Bill noticed that the bar was not as busy as usual. After scanning the room and not seeing any traces of a corpse, or this supposed murderer he approaches the bar. The bartender sets up a shot glass and looks at Bill expectantly.
"Ain't here fer a drink. Best I keep my head clear on this one. Rumor is somethin happened here recently. Somethin Congress ain't gonna be too happy bout."
The bartender is sweating heavily now. With a shacking voice he answers "I don't want any trouble. This guy came in here, probably all jacked up on Cardamine. He was sliding this other guy around behind him, looked like a police officer to me. Kept talking to the guy on the floor all crazy like. I didn't know what to do. Here's a copy of the camera over the bar. Will Congress be hunting this guy down?" He passes a datapad over to Bill with shacking hands.
Bill scans the pad quickly.
"Ain't none of yer business how we deal with this. Forget bout the whole thing. If'n you see this feller in here again, contact me. I'll be restin on my ship nearby." As Bill walks out of the bar he mumbles "might have a use fer a feller like this."
As a man left the bar, Reiner entered subtlety with a fleet of foot, unheard, unseen. He had shrugged passed a man leaving the bar within the same opening of the door and slid in unnoticed. With his cap angled down, his rag-like, torn scarf shrouding his identity and his trench coat waving behind him he weaved passed some revellers and took a seat in the back corner of the room in a curved ninety degree lounge table. He raised his elbows onto the table before him and clutched his fists together as he scanned the room, he signalled a barmaid for a glass of whisky on the rocks and did not stir.
*This was odd? He had visited only days earlier and caused a very different scene, it wasn't right.*
The barmaid walked over to the bar and requested a whisky on the rocks for the corner table. "Just a whiskey on the rocks for the gentleman...". The barkeep handed her a tray with some snacks and some drinks for a nearby table.
"Here take this to table seven, who did you say the whiskey was for?" he asked as counted some money into the cash register.
"That gentleman in the corner, the one with the cap" she replied as she took the tray and pointed over in his direction.
The barkeep raised his head, his eyes instantly catching Reiner's, he went pale and quickly stuttered his words as he muddled them up for a few seconds whilst shooing away the barmaid waving both arms forward, before he got himself together. "Errmm, Gofwwww, fwww.... t-th...call...errm... Nevermind?! Go!" *cough*. She looked back at him raising an eyebrow as he was acting rather peculiar. He bent turned around and grabbed a bottle of whisky from the shelf beside him and inspected the empty contents in a surprised manner, he then crouched down to grab another bottle pulling out his phone in the process to call The Congress as instructed by Bill.
"Is this Bill? He's here, that fella y'all came lookin' for...".
He hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket before standing up again and finishing off the drink, the barmaid at this moment had returned and stood before him huffing and puffing seeing the Barkeep hadn't taken the drink, she carried the drink back to the corner where Reiner sat.
"Appreciated." The tone was low and polite, a gentleman's thanks. Reiner sat still, playing with his glass, spinning on the table before taking a sip. His only moved his eyes from behind the shadow of his cap, left, right, forward, right... Every movement was being captured, every conversation was being overheard and monitored he was in a strategic location to control the room and gather any information he could. The tavern was a popular Junker hangout and somebody with half a brain would know it wise to listen to any information regarding their work, Reiner had met some before, all had a underhand in something, and although it wasn't often flashed, they were far from poor folk.
He sat remained seated in the corner, occasionally withdrawing his phone from his pocket, taking a glimpse and putting it away again. The change in attitude was too divergent, the barkeep discretely kept an eye on him, Reiner had noticed the occasional check, but no notice was taken, what threat was this man to him, he could barely speak when Reiner first entered the bar a few days ago.