*Bret and Jenson struggle on the floor till Jenson hits Bret in the back of the head....knocking him unconscious* *Jenson picks up Bret in his arms* Jenson: Forgive him madam...Ive only seen him do this once before... *Jenson starts carrying Bret to the enterance* Jenson: To all of you here....*Jenson turns his head to see the others in the inn*...You didn't see any of this...
-"If we do not learn at least one thing a day....Our minds turn to stupor"- Kyle Sparrgrove -2005
Capt. Garrick enters the bar with some of his crew. They pause at the entrance and look around at the few others located there enjoying their drinks. They pause a moment looking at the 2 leaving. "Hum.. wonder what happened to him.." Another one nudges him in the ribs. "Mind your own business and you'll live longer pal" After a moment they all enter and find a vacant table. A waitress comes around and the group orders a few drinks.
Winston the cargo-master adds in.. "Good to docked for a bit, off loading our cargo from Crete. Too many LPI around Manhatten to safely dock there. It's good that Remnant showed us the way here, otherwise we might have been spotted trying to dock with the planet."
Winston and the 2 gunners start talking on their own about their daily routine when Garrick notices his personal communicator blinking. Checks a message on it and then types something on it in response. After a few more drinks he looks over at the other crew members.
"Enjoy yourselves for a bit lads, we're getting refueled and that parting blast from the Unioners repaired in the port side armor. I might even check into some more advanced armor upgrades. You all have 3 hours till I would like to shove off of this heap and head to Dublin to get some gold that's waiting for us."
With that the captain finishes his drink, leaves some money for the tab and heads out back towards the ship's berth. He hollers back over his shoulder to the remaining crew.. "I have a few things to check on, maybe I'll line us up a new job and we'll let the gold in Dublin sit for a bit longer before we go and get it." Then he leaves the room.
While Cypher was walking out he stoped for a moment to see whats gonna happen, he heard that Jenson guy say "You didn't see any of this" and he yells across the bar "What if some of us did, are you going to do something about it" Cypher was one who would always look for trouble.. he came in again and looked at Jenson and said "So.. are you gonna do something about it?"
The remaining 3 crewmen.. Winston the cargo-master and the 2 gunners look nervously at each other. "You see dummy.. you run your mouth here, somebody will have a problem with it. Let's just finish our drinks and see what happens, we have 3 hours remember what the captain said." Winston sits back in his chair, adjusts his pistol so it's easier to reach if he needs it, but keeps it tucked under his utility vest.
The other two notice Winston's movements and relax alittle, they too make their firearms alittle more accessable. "Now we just sit here and enjoy our drinks.. enjoy the view of these ladies over there and maybe we'll get to see some live action before we go."
They order another round of drinks, just sitting back at their table, apparently minding their own business, but watching and waiting..
*Jenson shifts Bret's unconscious body onto his shoulder* Jenson: Hmph... *Jenson pulls out his mauser and files a single shot into the wall 2 inches from the hackers right eye * Jenson: Former RM sir......Have a good day.... *Jenson turns and continues carrying Bret back to the ship*
-"If we do not learn at least one thing a day....Our minds turn to stupor"- Kyle Sparrgrove -2005
About an hour passes and Capt. Garrick returns to the table to sit with his 3 crewmen. They are sitting joking around and laughing, a few empty pitchers are on the table. One of the gunners is face down on the table with a half full glass still clenched in his hand.
Winston turns to the Capt. "Looks like the newbie can't hang out with old Winston sir. This other chap here though, he's okay."
"Well that's good to hear, we're going to be here for a while I guess they found something wrong with the main drive engines. So be a couple of hours I guess, who really knows.. " Garrick looks around and motions for one of the bar hands. "I'll need 3 more glasses and let's say 3 more pitchers." She leaves the table and he turns back to Winston. "The rest of the crew should be joining us shortly and I can see we have some catching up to do."
Bartender:....Oh..Its you again.... Bret:...Are there...Any open rooms?....I'll pay.... Bartender: 600 Creds a night pal... Bret: FIne...I'll pay....
*Bret hands the Bartender the credits...Bartender exchanges them with a pair of keys* Bartender: Room 34... Bret: Thanks.... Bartender: You want a drink? Bret: No....I'm..I'm good....
*Bret walks off to the stairwell and looks for his room*
Bret: Room 34...Room 34....
-"If we do not learn at least one thing a day....Our minds turn to stupor"- Kyle Sparrgrove -2005
There hasn't been any activity in the last 17 days from the patrons... the inn became quiet... its drink bar empty... its tables and chairs all kept tucked in for the "neatness" of it. The bartender was happily wiping away at a shotglass, now becoming used to the pin-drop serenity...
The Junkers who took care of it were starting to enjoy the peace and quiet the emptiness brought...
"Serves them right..."
But their peace didn't last long, however...
In came this man who looked like he was reaching his 70's... He had snow-white hair, a full, long beard, wrinkles that lined parts of his face, but eyes that shone with the fire and brightness of a 16-year-old. He was somewhere around 2 meters tall, had a chiseled, rock-solid build, and his left arm was replaced with a thick, robotic construct that apparently didn't support any direct weapon systems, but seemed capable enough to pierce open ship hull panels with one finger. He wore a smile so devilish it's as if he used it in torturing someone until he killed him, then continued playing with the corpse anyway.
He had 6 multiple, painful-looking scars running all over his face alone: he had one horizontal scar that ran over his whole forehead like a blaster bolt narrowly missed its mark by a millimeter; another two intersected both eyes like a large, two-pronged knife had almost carved his eyes out; a laceration wound blotched his right cheek like an open crater; and two, parallel, horizontal cuts ran across his other cheek, like some massive claw from long ago had almost been successful in cleaving off his face.
His clothes were so rugged, shot-ridden, explosion-torn and dirt-covered it's a wonder they didn't fall apart yet, looking as if the devil himself used it for his frat party and didn't have the mood in him to return it without even a decent wash: he wore a brown, hole-lined, ankle-low, long-sleeved, heavily-patched trench-coat that had many, many pockets and zippers that contained various, mysterious objects in them; underneath it was a thick, black vest that looked like it went through 5 80-year-wars, and then some; his desert-camo cargo pants wasn't spared from the wear and tear, and it looked so patched up as well; his combat boots didn't fare well either, which almost seemed to fall apart any second...
As the old veteran walked into the inn no eye spared its glance from him. All of the Junkers have heard stories about this man: he didn't want to escape the many prisons he went into because they offered too much "fun" for him; an outcast family had put a hefty price on his head, but no bounty hunter has ever managed to even come close to touching him yet; he would attack a Bretonian Battleship in a Rhino just for the sake of the thrill the unbalanced challenge gave; this old veteran wasn't just another run-of-the-mill guy who seeks thrill and excitement in the form of death-defying acts...
The old man soon landed on a chair on the bar aisle directily in front of the bartender, who raised his eyebrow at the sudden comeback of the veteran...
[color=#99FF99]"We don't want any trouble here, or you're so-called 'fun', Katarn..."
The old veteran looked up to the bartener with a piercing gaze that looked like they indirectly issued a challenge, "... Oh? That so, Winston? ... Hahahaaaah..."
He flicked up his PDA onto the table, swaped a card onto its side, and the card suddenly lit up with the words of '500 SC' on them, "Here, then... Just give me 10 orders o' Black Grog. I'm sure these alone don't cause any trouble, see? HAHAHAHAHA!!!"
The bartender swiped the credit card from the old veteran's hand in a quick and decisive motion, then turned to get the orders with a low grumble in his voice.
Katarn Dragonbourne heaved in one deep breath of air, held it on for as long as he could, and then let it all out in one, slow motion of his chest.
By the time the bartender got back with the big tray of Black Grog Katarn was already appraising one of his pistols closely.
"Ah... The ATT-85..." Said the bartender in a low growl, "... A rare pistol that was decommissioned from the weapons factory in Alster Shipyard in '75... And this is one of the rarer models since it's got a slot for a disposable scope, as far as I can tell..."
[color=#99FFFF]"Ye still have a way with yer weapons, eh, Winston?" The old veteran grinned back at the bartender, "Ye should instead hold a weapons' dealership rather than run this sorry place... At least yer guaranteed te be a winner, eh? Hahahahhhh..." Katarn takes one of the mugs of thick, frothing alchohol and starts downing it.
The bartender slams his right hand on the table so hard one of the tankards spills on Katarn's side, "... Don't... you... dare criticize my inn... I don't care if you were the offspring of Satan or even a shard of his crap. I'll get the rest of the Junkers to ship your sorry ass in a box outta here if you make another comment like that..."
Katarn looks at the wasted grog spilling all over the floor, "... Awww... My apologies, Winston... If ye really loved yer inn, then why not place an ad on the neural net and attract some yonder customers te keep it busy, eh?"
"That's because it's a JUNKER base, Katarn.. You know very well I can't just place a signboard that says where this base is... It'd have my sorry ass filled with Dreadnoughts if ever the Liberty Navy found that out..."
"Ah... t'is a shame, Winston... Would've been... fun if ye did, HAHAHAHA!!!"
Katarn takes another mug of Black Grog from the platter.
The bartender then looks at the old veteran straight in the eyes with a piercing stare, "Why are you here, Katarn...?"
Katarn finished his grog soon afterwards, and said, "What? Can't an ol' man talk with his ol' friends? Ye used te be this fine, strappin young lad since I last saw ye! Where be the ol' Winston I remember, eh?
"Oh yes! On a side-note, where be this strappin young lassy ye used te make luv with? Darla, wasn't it? She used te be always by yer side wherever ye went, lad! Where might she be this time, HAHAHA!!!"
The bartender suddenly looked away, his voice receding to a whisper, both his fists clenching from remembering that fateful memory,
"... She's dead, Katarn... Caught in an ion storm when she was gathering junk... last time I saw her... she... she..." He then punches the wall so hard it shudders the wine cabinet stuck beside it... All the while, tears came streaming down his eyes.
The old veteran's grin faded to a gentle smile upon hearing the sad news, "... Oh... That be a shame, laddy... Ma condolences te the lassy, then..."
As the bartender continued to slowly sob, a robotic hand rested on his left shoulder. The bartender looked back to find Katarn offering a Black Grog with his right hand.
When the bartender reluctantly took the grog and drowned it bitterly, Katarn looked back at the other Junkers who were eyeing the talk between them, "Gentlemen!... Ladies... I PROPOSE A TOAST... to this here young laddy's loss of his fine woman, Darla... May her soul have the rest it deserves!"
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