Atop Zvezdny Gorodok sits a large, rotating hub. Most passers-bye assume the hub contains a station headquarters, an observation post, or at worst, some kind of evil ship-watching station for a socialist admiral to watch passing souls. It is all this, and more.
It's a pub.
With plate-glass windows and a raised, 8-foot high catwalk, it's perfect for the observation of passing ships, or for drunken contemplation of the stars. Tables litter the place in no particular order, and Coalition souvenirs littler the walls. A chunk of the hull of HMS Terra, Grand Admiral McIntosh's original ship, which he defected to the Coalition with. The Pistol used to execute former High-Chanceller Aeon. A massive, unexploded Nova torpedo, revently taken from the hull of the M'zav'koh, and Admiral Kirk's favorite item. An ancient suit of Powered Space armour, MK-CCH-347-2, leans against the wall, with blood still spattering the hands, and a Golden Star painted upon the chestplate.
The feature of the collection, though, is rather small and unassuming. An old fashioned, brass telescope, with the words "Maxim Gorky, April 30th, 1938", and the Hammer and Sickle engraved upon the side. It's history is documented upon the brass plaque at the bottom of it's holder, but it's unknown how or when it got the Sirius Sector. Excpt it's owner, of course, but he's not telling.
Eugne Weise sits beside the jukebox, banging his head to the beat. "Lads, the USSR had to be an amazing place to live, if he was so happy to get back there! Just listen to all the poon-tang!" The other pilots stare at him in amazement, then go back to their drinks quietly. Sometimes, discretion seemed to be the better part of valor.
A slight stir at the front, as a cloaked, masked, and angry-looking pilot stomps in. Scattering a cluster of junior lieutenants off the M'zav'koh, he makes a b-line for Eugen.
"Weise! Why the h*ll is your zoner-infested ship parked in my spot?!"
"Heya there, Commander Totenkopt. Well, my spot has a cargo lifter in it, and I decided that rather than shooting the pilot, I'd park in your spot and let you do it."
"Fine then! Gimmie your sidearm!"
"Aight..." Eugen pulls a nastly looking, massive projective weapon from a low-slung holster, checks the chamber, and hands it over.
"Jesus! What calibre is this monster?" asks Totenkopt, jacking a round into the chamber, and slipping it under his cloak.
"Uuuh... I believe it's .65, although I was a little wasted when I bought it. Nice though, eh? Could blow a hole though the flagship with that puppy!"
"Right... well, I'll go shoot that cargo hauler, then make his buddies move his ship. If the recoil hasn't snapped both my wrists, anyways..."
[color=#FFFFFF]//SCRA and co. only. If you want to post, PM me or blunt. Or both. Every post MUST include a song of whatever happens to be playing on the jukebox, or I'll ask for its removal. And the songs can't suck, either. If I hear anything Emo, someone will be holding ice down the back of their pants...
Jack Handey Wrote:I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
