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Tubalcaine · 09-09-2011, 01:37 AM,

The first thing to hit him was the somehow the smell... and it hit him like a punch in the face.
'Smells like home' he chuckled to himself as his scanners picked up Ouray Base.

The next thing was the noise, but he was getting used to it all. Smashing glass, breaking furniture, and cusses and swears beyond recognition (some he could have sworn were made up on the spot). He braced himself as the doors slid open.

James Morgan reflexively hit the deck as the 'woosh' of smoke and booze followed a flying empty bottle out of the doorway towards him. Picking himself up, the young pilot with a chip on his shoulder crunched through the broken glass into the bar on Ouray, unconsciously stroking the fading scar on his head where the bottle had hit him on his first night.

Outside of a few drunken ramblings from unintelligible pilots and station hands he didn't get much interaction as he carefully stepped up to the bar, intent on getting something to settle his nerves after getting his first logged act of vengeance on the criminal foreign pests that had cost his family their livelihood. He didn't know many pilots on the station, but one figure in the corner stuck out; mainly because he had missed him at first glance. If he hadn't been so shaky from the fight, he probably wouldn't have noticed him the second time either.

He didn't quite fit in. Not right now anyway. The more James looked the more this man unbalanced him. Amidst the whirling maelstrom of fists and broken bottles that the bar always was he was sat in the corner, silent, swirling a golden drink in a small glass in one hand, the other tucked in his pocket, with three fingers hanging out. His head was down, with his face obscured by a hat. A faint glow illuminated what lay underneath, as a slow stream of smoke snaked out from underneath. Of all things, he was wearing a suit. It looked dirty, like everything in this place, and he could see the brown splatters of faded blood here and there, but it was a suit none the less.

He almost looked wealthy- at least compared to some others in the bar. 'One of those shady Corporate Trader guys here to cut a deal?' James whispered to himself in thought.
'Nahh' He thought. If he was, he wouldn't be sat on a barstool that was at least 65% duct tape.

James eased his eyes and thoughts away from this shadowman, and decided to think about something significantly more delicious, and assumedly colder. He leaned onto the bar, careful to avoid the darker patches of the stained material and caught the bartenders' eye.
The Bartender was probably the guy James new best on the station after his limited time; although being best pals with the bartender was hardly an astonishing feat on a Xeno base. He hobbled over to James, alert in one eye and the other contorted into what looked like the remains of some would-be grin or constipation. James couldn't be bothered to guess which.

'Morgaaan!' He said. 'The fresh meat! The young blood who shot down three navey pilots over Denver!' He smiled a near-toothless grin, and James almost fell unconscious from a puff of his breath. The man's skin had never known the cleansing touch of soap in all his years. 'Not dead yet?' He said darkly, still grinning. 'How's that liver holding up?' James retorted, trying to stay upright. 'A darn sight better than yers will be in thirty years!' He was quick, despite his inebriation. It took James more time to decipher his awkward and indeterminate accent than it did for him to shoot back.

'So what can ahh get yer?' He shouted over the din of the several ignored barfights. 'Sidewinder fang thanks' James said, as the barkeep 'cleaned' a glass with a rag that just looked like it had singlehandedly serviced a bomber. 'Good one, haha!' He laughed. 'Diamond glass, right? Hahaha!'

'Very funny... fine get me whatever' James said with a sigh. He would have been happy with anything. 'And while you're at it...' The bartender turned back to him. '... who's the fella in the corner?'
'Ahh...' His voice took on a much more husky, gravelly tone as he did his best to pipe down. He gargled in the back of his throat as he wiped the glass with the rag, and spit a wad of gunk toward the glass. It was a close miss; a wodge of thick ooze splattered onto the bar. He ignored it and kept wiping the glass. James wrestled the terrified look from his face and muttered to himself. 'Well... explains the stains I suppose'. That squint couldn't be helping his coordination. The bartender leaned in closer, as the look of pain on his face faded from the grin, and leaned more towards constipation. 'That's Tubalcaine' The barkeep said. He was answered by the look of total apathy and lack of interest on James' face. 'Diamondback; he was a pilot with the XA fer a while, since the early days. Top-notch guy but... never seemed ter be like most here, it's pretty obvious though. Damn valuable asset anyway... genuine single-minded crusader'. James' reply was little more than a stare that told the bartender he was still waiting to be interested. 'So there he is at the early days of the XA, it's all goin' great and he makes a few key hits with the team, real good stuff. Then, out of nowhere, he vanishes. Tells no-one. Not even high command. Nobody. No message, no nothing. One of our boys swore he saw him siphoning his eagle fuel into a glass with a vacant drunken look on his face, but you know how it gets around here...'
'Ah huh'. James knew 'how it got around here' after about three days of calling Ouray home, but somehow the whole thing didn't sound right. James leaned in, trying his best to dodge what he perceived to be the visual incarnation of the bartenders stench. 'So how long was he gone? Where?'

'Years.' Croaked the old barkeep. 'It's been years. He hasn't really said much since he got here. I reckon he's gonna' work out who's in charge now and talk to 'em after a drink or two, he got in a little before you did. Never thought I'd see the guy again.'

'So... what happened?' James was close enough to see the man's left eye now. He was just squinting for the sake of it, the eye was intact. 'Old fool' James laughed to himself. James saw his eyes dart from side to side; making sure the drunken hurricane of fists and drunken insults was still swirling around the bar. The bartender leaned in even closer. 'Rumour is he went after the head honcho. The big cheese. Ol' Diamond always had a score to settle with the Liberty Navy: I heard he took on the head admiral.'
'Christ' James whispered.
'Yeah' The barkeep chuckled. 'He hooked up a phony distress signal and waited until the Head Admiral was in the system. When he arrived, he hit the button and sent out a message saying an invasion fleet had come out of nowhere over Pittsburgh'. James looked puzzled.

'Why Pittsbur-'
'So then...' Interrupted the bartender, '... There's ol' Diamondback sat in his Eagle, with the Liberty Navy pouring out of the tradelane. He sat there, as gunboats, cruisers, and dreadnoughts aplenty spewed out, and top navy fighters swarmed around them! Finally, after the bulk of his fleet, the Liberty Navy Head Admiral came out of the lane in a mighty battleship. Seeing no invasion battlefleet, just a lone Xeno fighter sat in space above Pittsburgh, the Dreadnoughts bore down on Tubalcaine, their fearsome battlecry of 'ENGAGING XENO!' echoing across the comms.'

'Heh heh', the old bartender chuckled. 'Tubalcaine tore them to pieces. Dreadnought after dreadnought fell like confetti. He tore them all to shreds. The smarter fighters and gunboats turned tail back to Manhattan while they still could.'
'And then?' James whispered, his mouth agape with awe.
The bartender smiled his crooked grin. 'It was the Admiral, sat in his battleship. Alone. His entire elite guard fleeing or floating'
'Wow...' James said without thinking.
'Tubalcaine turned his eagle back to the Admiral, and said... 'You're going down like the hygiene on Ouray!''

James raised an eyebrow, his mouth still hanging slightly open, and paused for a while. 'He really said that?'

The bartender ignored it. 'He flew straight at the battleship, tearing up space, pushing his Eagle to limits nobody ever knew it had. As he passed the prow he killed the engines, and floated past, angled down, tearing up the hull with his guns! The Admiral never stood a chance: The Coward bailed from his exploding ship as Diamondback flew away from the damage radius, triumphant. What he didn't see, was the cowardly Admirals' last trick! The escape pod blasted from the surface of the dying battleship, and BAM!' He slammed his fist into his palm, making James jump a mile. 'Slammed into his rear! His engines were toast, and the Admiral escaped!'

'So next thing he knows, he's spinnin' outta' control like, and he's heading straight for Maine!' The bartender had gone as far as re-enacting the scene out with one palm 'flying' towards his fist in a haphazard manner. Maybe he had worked behind the bar a little too long, James thought to himself. 'Then, 'PWARSCHSHCHSCH!' Ol' Diamondback ploughs into the surface of Maine, crash land, yahoo! They say yer can see it from SPACE!'

James didn't say a word.

'So there he is, climbing out of the wreckage in his life support suit, bleedin' above his left eye 'nd all that... and he starts pullin' apart what's left of his ship. I don't know about the rest, but they say he managed to reach Pittsburgh from Maine with nothing but what he salvaged from his Eagle... two empty glass jars, and a roll of duct tape...'

James sat there, dumbfounded, not even noticing the drink this man had poured while he was explaining what had happened. 'My... oh... what...?' he uttered.

'Yeah!' The bartender growled, gargling in the back of his throat, preparing to 'clean' another glass. 'That's what they're sayin'.' He seemed to be squinting even harder.

' A' course, that's not what he told me.' He dropped casually as he pulled out another glass.

The look of wonder on James' face fell like an anvil as it turned into the expression of a man who has just realised he has kissed goodbye to five precious minutes he will never see again. 'That's not what who told you?' He said in an apprehensive, but resigned voice.

'Tubalcaine' He hocked another mouthful of spit into a perfectly clean glass, before rubbing it furiously. 'Told me he was travellin''.

James blinked. The 'truth' was almost more outlandish than the fiction. 'He was on vacation? I didn't think our pilots went 'travelling'!' The rookie turned around on his wonky barstool to see an empty chair with an extinguished cigarette in an empty glass. As his eyes strained to make out the fast-fading trail of smoke snaking out the bar door, James had a feeling this wasn't the last time he'd see Tubalcaine sat in the corner of Ouray Inn. He got up and started out the door, after the strange pilot. Within three seconds a hand from nowhere had grabbed James by the collar and pulled him into a bar brawl.

Tubalcaine closed the bar door. 'Just how I left you', he said, as he turned tail and walked up to Ouray Administration.

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