Montoya felt an intense sense of fear, but seeing Pedro Alonso in such a state over the same amount of fear closed Juan's feelings inside him. His visage had been one of fear momentarily, but it changed to his normal blankness of expression.
"Please, sit friend. Let me order you a drink, for your help in space yesterday. What would you like from the bar?"
*Nothing for the moment.*
The voice of the figure cut through Juan's soul like a chainsaw through a tree. Shocked and, already feeling opressed within, he tried his best to hide it from the figure, but his best couldn't stop the blatant automatic shift backwards into his chair.
Juan recovered after a moment or two, but the thought he saw, just for a moment, a small grin on the figure's face, before his face disappeared again.
"So, what is your purpose of seeing me?"
Juan's voice was laced with all the traits of a scared man, but still he spoke, trying to conquer what seemed like one of the worst nightmares of emotion he had ever encountered in his life.
"Two things. The first, I would like to congratulate and salute you on running such a fine organisation, your pilots are among the most skilled and honourable in the Sector."
A slight pause. The man's usual proud demeanour had crumbled as he put on a half baked fa?ade, trying to hide his fear. This was a man to be respected and treated well. Scared and cornered beasts are easily the most savage and vicious when threatened.
"Secondly, I would ask a favour of you. I realise that Omicron Gamma and surrounding systems are your Sovereign territory. However, I'm am still ordered by TBH pilots, to identify myself. I've flown in your space for long enough for them to know me by my callsign. I would appreciate if you would direct them to give me a wider berth."
Another pause, to re-assess the situation. The fear was beginning to cloud his judgement, I could see the pride beginning to mingle with terror. TBH personnel were watching, some were opening thigh holster, sensing the tension. I was in no position to survive a fire-fight unscathed.
"I will leave you to decide as you wish. Rest assured, I would not hold it against you to deny my request. I will adhere to your ruling either way"
I stood.
"I await your response"
Turning to leave, I began pacing towards the door.
"Err...um...well...you see, we always need up to date information on who is in the sys..."
*So you deny my request.*
"As much as I respect, and too a degree, fear you, I must deny your request."
The figure continued to walk, as those in the bar sheathed their guns, almost with an audible sigh of relief. However, his head turned aside, and whispered somthing, which no one could make out. Juan wanted, and felt like he needed to know what was said. Such a man followed by an atmosphere of fear needed to be watched, but no one would do it. The mere prospect of this made Juan shiver.
Gentle watched the exchange between the TBH commander Montoya and the hooded figure. To see his brother so shaken was a shock to Gentle. Fear was now a medical impossibility for Gentle due to an accident on a freighter in his youth. A part of his brain had become damaged, the part that controlled his fear and ability to sleep was lost forever. Gentle decided to talk to the man before he left.
"Senor, I am gentle, the leader of the OPG. Please, come sit with me a while I would talk to you about the predicament you are in amigo"
The man slowly turned eyeing Gentle carefully from beneath his hood. Drifting toward the table Gentle sat in chair was prepared for him to sit at by the barman.
"bring us some of the Brandy i looted amigo"
"Senor I have witnessed your effect on my comrades. I am impressed. I am concerned also that bloodshed is inevitable. I have a solution senor."
The hooded figure lifted the glass to his mouth to sip the fine brandy. gentle waited for him to savour the fine alcohol.
"I have a requirement in OPG for ruthless elite pilots senor. It appears that you at least have the correct effect on people around you. If you can inspire fear into your enemies in space like you do in this bar you would no doubt fit in well with members of the OPG. It is a simple solution senor you join our faction and the rest of Corsair society will give you the freedom you require"
"let us go into space and fly together Amigo"
"We should develop an understanding of each other before a decision is made. What do you say amigo?"
Being stopped by someone is a rare and unusual occurrence in my life. This man betrayed no hint of emotion, no drained skin colour, no raised heart rate or irregular breathing. He was for all intents and purposes immune. Something was wrong with this man, he was not human or he was insane. Or both.
The brandy tasted awful. Bretonian, industrialised, **** in a glass.
The offer was appealing, but he remember the last time he had been offered a place in a group like this. Previously an upstart Outcast, his mind worn by Cardamine, had offered him a similar proposition. This Outcast had been of no consequence to him, or anyone in Outcast society. He had met his end, three second after placing a hand on my arm. Three seconds, the same time it takes to draw, charge and aim a plasma pistol. Right in the middle of a packed plaza.
"With respect pilot. I see neither comrades of yours or indeed friends within this bar. The SCRA pilot jeer you and throw insults your way and respond with silence and acceptance of such disrespect. No. If you were the leader of a any group of consequence, or an Elder of the Corsairs, then you would've done something to quell such disrespect long ago!"
Looking at the table across the bar, I drew the attention of the SCRA pilots who had been in fits of laughter moments before. Their faces were now solemn and utterly concerned with avoiding my gaze.
"Pilot, did you have something to say to me?"
"N-, No, sir!", he stammered.
"Were you and your friends saying something about me?"
"Erm, well, n-"
"Good, I suggest that you run along."
Looking back at Gentle, he could tell he may have been too honest with him. His face was flushed, embarrassed that I had moved on his aggressors with such ease and enraged that I had, in his eyes, under estimated his organisation.
"My final answer, is no. You may be immune to my aura, but those in your organisation would not. I make an exception by flying in groups with other pilots. In short, I work alone."
With that I brushed the almost full brandy glass to the floor and disappeared out the bar.
((I have left. That's the end of this story for now, I may return. Also, if you would mind not leading my character with dialogue or desicions. I leave it open ended for you to make your own dialogue and decisions, IE, I leave the glass on the table, it's your choice to pick it up and rink from it. Thanks))
Les strolled from the hangar to the bar while smoking one of the cigars always present in the breast pocket of his flight suit. It had been awfully quiet in Gamma of late during his time in the cockpit.
Another figure brushed passed him at the entrance of the bar, so quiet that he could not discern his steps on the rock floor. A coldness followed in his wake and Les felt himself nearly overcome by sudden fear. For a long moment he just stood at the door until the tip of his cigar brushed one of his fingers and snapped him out of the daze.
"What the...!?" Moore whirled around. The figure was gone but the coldness lingered. With a grunt he turned back and entered the bar. The expressions on faces that were not starring intently at their drinks confirmed he was not the only one to experience what just happened.
Gentle sat at a table by himself and appeared unaffected. Perhaps he was in the bathroom when whatever happened, happened.
At another table Elder Montoya looked quite disturbed although he was composing himself much better than others.
Les was curious about what was going on, but a part of him really didn't want to know. Perhaps a drink. He signaled to the bartender who placed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the bar. Taking the bottle and glasses the red-bearded Corsair seated himself at the table across from Juan. He poured both glasses half full of whiskey and slid one in Juan's direction.
"Maybe this will help," said Les peering at the Elder and puffing his cigar.
Sephardi walks into the bar, he slips up to the bar, looking worn and haggerd. "Whiskey, make it a double." he growls. As the bartender puts up the glass, Sephardi takes and throws the whole drink back, " another " he say, slightly more civiley. Sephardi had been in the cockpit for more than 24 hours. First out doing patrol. It had been a little helish, a zoner Octavio had decided to go bounty hunting in gamma, and needed to be run out of the system. Later a outcast dreadnought broke through the outer defences to get to create. With most of our capships deployed, the timley apperance of an order osiris helped turn the battle our way. Those disposed of He had taken some time to train with the SCRA piolits. They had handed him a gallon of humility, bringing his mood down after a sucsessful patrol. Normally after a patrol like that he would be celibrating, but not today. He through back the drink and got another, taking it he moved into a quiet spot in the corner.
Lucendez sits on a stool at the bar, a rare thing to see, but none the less, he is there, head in hands and grief trembling through his arm. The bartender is shaking something in a shaker and is waiting annoyingly for Lucendez to signal him to stop.
"Those rats. They dare to fly in Omicron Alpha under Hessian colors and in Outcast ships. I'm starting to think we are going to openly curse our brothers and start sending them to their families in bags." The bartender kept shaking.
"I've traveled the Sector looking for peace from the differences that keep us from paradise. I could have joined the Outcasts, but they're nothing but drugged up mutants who would ruin an innocents life just to make a credit. The houses are corrupt beyond recognition. I came to this rock to seek solidarity, peace, and my brothers, and now? Insanity." Lucendez made a signal with his thumb and index finger and the bartender poured the milky brown substance into the glass, handing it over to Juan and returning to his other patrons.
"Mmmm, thats what I needed!" Said Lucendez, sipping his chocolate milk. He took out his pad and began to write a message on the private lines. He hoped he could do something to stave off a war. Even if he failed he would die happy.
"The thirteen saloons that had lined the one street of Seney had not left a trace. The foundations of the Mansion House hotel stuck up above the ground. The stone was chipped and split by the fire. It was all that was left of the town of Seney. Even the surface had been burned off the ground.
Nick looked at the burned-over stretch of hillside, where he had expected to find the scattered houses of the town and then walked down the railroad track to the bridge over the river. The river was there."
Ares takes a seat next to Juan Montoya and gives a displeased smile. He hands his friend a beer and sips his own,
"You sure know how to make me look a fool, eh, amigo? Treating me just like those damn LDDLG, whatever the hell that stands for, after they hack private communications. You then proceed to tell us to 'help each other'.
That was what I was saying all along! That we had been defending Gamma without the help of many so-called Corsairs. And then it appeared that he had been listening in the whole bloody time... Probably hired a Lane Hacker."
Ares shakes his head and clenches his fists, obviously furious,
"Look, Juan, I'm your friend, I was right about Gentle the bloody Hessian, and these fools have been seen carrying Inferno cannons in large amounts, similar to the path the OPG took. In fact, that idiot that uses punctuation in his name is behaving very similarly to that so-called 'Pirate King'.
They intentionally forget the blood and sweat my wing and I put into defending this purgatory of a home we've been forced to live on. They expect respect for provoking the Phantoms into conflict at Tripoli. The Phantoms! The damned Phantoms!
We were this close to getting them to targetting the Outcasts for supporting those Asgard bastards and the LDDLG shoot at them! We can't afford to worry about the Phantoms right now, Montoya. You've heard the stories."
He loosens up a bit,
"Sorry, sorry... I just worry about what the Corsair people are falling to... the Brotherhood and my sister are pretty much the only ones that I can rely on. The Corsairs are meant to be familia, all for one and all that jazz, comprende?"
He leans back on his seat, trying to calm himself down, hoping that Juan spares him the condescension. After all, Ares had been trying to be less confrontational over the past few weeks, especially after being contacted by the strange Nayehiya shaman, but it seemed that there were always folks that wanted to make a name for themselves, hiding behind the protection of their betters.
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