Freeport 10's "Sylvania Dome"

[Enkidu]

"Ah, see my friend? The luck of a gambler!" Achille grinned maddeningly at his Order compatriot, a mask of showmanship obscuring a wealth of relief. "Thank you, Mc Carthy, for the... opportune... interruption. Perhaps, twelve o'clock is not such the suicidal timegap it's monikered to be hm?"


For a single instant Achille appeared almost genuinely grateful, before the jester's mask washed back over his features and any redeemable traces of a soul were immediately eclipsed. "Ah, well cheri, this depends on exactly what you consider to be the most "Logical thing". He barraged, enjoying himself once more.

"...Now, whilst you yourself have stated that the most... ahem... "Logical thing" would be for me to stop confusing this self-righteous Hercules with the handgun and leave you two to your little chat, would be too much of a liberty to... say... detour from your action plan?..."

The grin became maniacal.

"...Perhaps a little change in setting would be appropriate, oui? Look around yourselves; the tension is palpable. It's certain that we require somewhere a little less... heady, less atmospheric to continue our wonderful argume.... discussion. The airlock perhaps? With a certain Order somebody on the opposing side of a particular hatch? I'm sure we'd all find the experience bracing...."


Achille halted. Clearly the incorrigible McCarthy was reaching the end of her emotive tether, and the threat of being swiftly kicked in the bollocks by one of those sensible shoes of hers defied any entertainment. Besides, the conversation was dry, and the subjects apathetic. The bar held greater pleasures, besides, she had just saved his hide, organs, bone structure, and possibly his existence too from being taken by an imbecile.

"Adieu, Susan, and thank you, sincerely, for perpetuating my life." He shrugged; surprisingly nonchallent.

"And as for you my Order friend... well, you know my name, you're in my house. Perhaps, some other time, we can settle our little feud in the manner to which you are accustomed, yes?"

A parting grimace, and Achille lost interest.

"Eh, Sean!" Nadeau yelled, rebounding like an magnet towards the attraction of alcohol; "Pour me something, anything, just make it bloody strong oui? Good man!"
He crumpled into the stool.


At this exact instant, Grengar struck, cannoning into the unfortunate Ordarian with the comparable force of an anti-matter cannon, pasting him against the pine.

"Oi, Grengar, yes? No need to maul the man now, his time will come believe me, just... dust him off and fling him in a coorner somewhere, he'll be fine..."

A wince-inducing snapping sound exuded from somewhere in the agent's pre-eminent direction.

The agent groaned. Considerably.

"I... assume so... anyway?" Achille giggled soundlessly, hiding his face in bar.

---

THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

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