Recruitment office of the Brotherhood ([TBH])

[pchwang]

"Bandido," says the old man. "He's no good. Probably more suited to more grisly work than the kind offered by la hermandad..."

The quiet stranger did not reply, only taking a small sip from the tiny, glistening glass. He did it defty, so as not to tip the wide-brimmed hat he wore upwards. When he placed it back on the table, it was empty. The old man reached for a bottle beneath the counter and filled the stranger's glass with a rich, amber liquid. He then replaced the bottle to its resting place.

"It is said that when they sent him out to the Malvada cloud, he did not return with one artifact - but many. Too many," continued the old man. "The rumor was, and has been, that he killed the two other ninos sent with him, and stole what they had found."

The stranger emptied the glass again, and the old man went for the bottle again. "But, I guess that is why we call it el cemeterio de los inocentes."

The stranger placed a gloved hand over the glass before the old man could pour again. "Es sufficiente. Does this man have a name?"

The old man, startled, paused as if to recollect some ancient memory. "Uh, si, ah, they call him Tuco."

"How old do you think he is?"

The old man paused again, trying to think. "Maybe in his thirties, or forties? I am an old man, I don't remember much anymore."

"And you said he could fly, verdad?"

"Si, senor," replied the old man, brow furrowing. "Why are you so interested in this man? Like I said, he is riff-raff. Not the kind of man you would want in la hermandad. He is a murder, a thief, a rapist, and a man with little honor. He is probably more suited for the Black Sails, if anything."

The stranger must have given the old man a stern look, or maybe, did something ridiculous, like drop his pants, because suddenly, there was no sound coming from the main room of the nearly deserted bar in the middle of the Cretan desert. The man known as Tuco cursed from beneath the floorboards, unable to see the exchange between the agent of la hermandad and the old man. He did not like the idea of having to rot in the hot, airless cellar for another hour.

"Well, I am only speaking what is true, senor," said the old man.

"Very well," said the stranger. He reached into his coat pocket and removed a card. "These are troubled times, and La hermandad is looking for good pilots, regardless of what kind of life they've led in the past."

"You tell Tuco to get in touch with me if he feels like starting fresh," continued the stranger, tapping his finger on the card twice.

"Vale, I will do that, senor," said the old man.

"Adios, senor."

"Adios."

With that, the stranger walked out of the bar. The old man took a deep breath, and sighed. Then he walked to the other side of the room, picked up a broom, turned it the wrong side up, and rapped the hardwood floor with it. After several minutes, and the creaks and clanks of one coming up a flight of well-made, but aging wooden stairs, a wild looking man emerged.

"Jesu cristo," muttered the old man. "Do you know what they will do to me if they find that they're sheltering someone like you?"

The wild-looking man said nothing. Panting, he walked slowly and methodically behind the bar counter, and found the bottle of rich amber liquid that the old man had kept there for the stranger. The wild-looking man chuckled, uncorked the bottle and took a long swig.

His thirst quenched, the wild-man chuckled. "Alfonso, you really do keep the good stuff away for the important guests."

"Tuco, that bottle of rum is worth much more than you are right now..." began the old man, Alfonso.

"Don't start, yayo. This town wouldn't be here if it weren't for me."

The old man sighed audibly. "Sometimes, I think we would have been better off just scattering out into the cities."

"Better off than what? Here?"

"Better off than hosting a Corsair who attacks transports carrying food shipments and artifacts!"

"Now, Alfonso, where does all your food come..."

Before Tuco could finish, the door to the bar opened with a creak. "So, you are the one they call Tuco."

Tuco did not answer, but rather, took a short swig from the bottle of rum and moved closer to the counter, where he placed a hand on Alfonso's 10-gauge shotgun. "Si, I am Tuco. How may I help you, senor?"

"You don't need to explain," began the stranger. The man pointed at the card he left on the counter. "It told me everything I needed to know."

Tuco glanced at the card, then glanced at the stranger. The shotgun hidden beneath the counter was pointed at the newcomer now - and at this range, the depleted uranium pellets in the single cartridge would obliterate anything standing within 10 yards in front of it. Tuco shot a look at Alfonso, the old barkeep. Alfonso reached over and picked the card up. He flipped it, and saw a small, black disk crudely taped the the back.

"Dios mios," muttered the old man. "Listening device..."

The stranger chuckled. "I think you're heading for a fork in the road, Tuco, and I get to pick which direction you get to move in. I have a man training a gun on your head right now. I can tell him to shoot or I can tell you about la hermandad, and we can move on."

Tuco said nothing. He tightened the grip on the shotgun.

"But that's entirely up to me," finished the stranger. "What is it like? To have your life in someone else's hands?"

---

[7:42:05 PM][6:51:36 PM] Igor (Smokey): btw terry
[6:51:48 PM] Terrance Cooper: Ye?
[6:52:00 PM] Igor (Smokey): nothin
[6:52:03 PM] Igor (Smokey): just sayin btw
[6:52:05 PM] Terrance Cooper: <_<

Johnny_Haas: you shot anti criuse speed rockets!!!
Johnny_Haas: but why????
Johnny_Haas: ??
Johnny_Haas: why you shoot criuse speed rockets?