McCool's Tavern - Freeport 1

[Rodent]

A non-descript, oldish man walks into the Tavern. He shuffles along to a seat near the window, presently unoccupied. With a sigh, he sits down, watching the panorama of the starscape. He calls a robotic aide, and gives him instructions to bring him water, and to direct a certain Solanus Kalenda to his table once he arrived. Bowing slightly, the robot left.

He relaxed slightly, but did not lower his wariness. The frontier was dangerous.

[jammi]

It was quite possible that those seated near the door heard a snippet of the conversation. Then, considering how loudly they were talking, it was quite possible that the majority of the bar heard. "Yeah, he's a Canary, but don't let that put you off, senorita. Not like it's his fault where he was born. It's like one of them handicap things, you know what I'm sayin'? He's still got Ventru blood deep in'm, so he'll go like a stallion." This was followed by a woman giggling. A second later, the duo entered the room.

Evidently they were both Corsairs - each had the give-away Hispanic complexion. The male wore the traditional garb of a Corsair pilot. Other than this, there was nothing traditional about him. The flight suit was unbuttoned almost to the navel, and a large gold medallion hung around his neck. One of his eyes had been replaced with a cybernetic implant, which had been crudely soldered to his skull. He wore his curly black hair cropped short, and his smile positively glittered. Probably on account of the sheer number of teeth he'd had torn out and replaced with gold substitutes.

However, the most striking feature about the peculiar figure was his boots: they came half-way up his shins, even with the tops folded down. Their platform soles added four inches to his already considerable height. They blazed crimson in the lights, due to the phosphorescent substance that they'd been dyed with. In short, he was one of the most flamboyant figures to ever walk through McCool's doors.

The woman hanging off his arm was wearing what, technically, could be classed as clothing. She had evidently heard of leaving aspects of the female body to the imagination, and wanted no truck with it. She was shapely in a way that was considered popular by Cretian men, and covered in 'endearing' tattoos. Unfortunately, she was missing some teeth - she refused to elaborate on why. Probably gum disease or bar fights. The man peered around the room, looking for someone. There was a lull in the conversation as the bar's denizens turned to stare incredulously (or scornfully) at this over-the-top apparition.

"Yo, Viera-baby! Where you hiding? Leonardo's got your date!"

---

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[Silver]

The click-clack of her heels alerted the guards to her arrival.
The bigger one recognized her face and ordered the woman to stop.

She sighed and raised her arms so she could be searched with the the handheld scanner.

Two minutes later, three small knifes, two guns and a small compact CQB shotgun were being locked away in a secure compartment. The red-head woman quickly keyed a combination and winked with a smirk at the guards as she walked into the bar.

"No manhandling. No fun."

Kalliste Silver thought as she stopped and looked at the several faces inside the bar.
Some she recognized from the files she pulled from the Reaver Database, others were complete strangers, and some others she knew already.

Noticing the rowdy corsair that was near her, shouting something about a Viera or somesuch, she dismissed it, and went to one of the farthest booths.

As she walked, several eyes were set on her.
Not just because she had a good figure or that bright red painted hair.
The shapely jeans that were basically glued to her legs and bottom did helped, though.
But no.
It due to who she is.

Silver. The face of the Reavers.
Branded as a terrorist not only by Rheinland and Bretonia, the Corsair Empire had a big score to settle with her as well.

The heels click-clacked on the hardwood floor, and she basically spun and threw her back at the booth, sitting herself comfortably in the cushy seat.

The eyes were still there, trailing her every move.

She looked back with a dead set face.

"You can look. But you can't touch."

Silver moved her lips saying that to the onlookers and grinned at the end.

If they wanted a shot at her, they would have to pay dearly.
Very dearly.

One of the robots that were currently being used as aide in the bar, came close to her.
She looked at it with a raises eyebrow and sighed.
Not that classy, the McCool's.

"Uh. A bottle of Jack Daniels, to be open by me, two glasses and call Dane Summers. Tell him Silver is waiting for him."

The robotic aide turned and went to carry out her order.
She grabbed a small silver case of cigars and pulled out an 100% pure Cretan Cigar.
Irony at it's best.

With a quick move, she lighted it up and waited for her drink to come.

---

[8:32:45 PM] Dusty Lens: Oh no, let me get that. Hello? Oh it's my grandma. She says to be roleplay.
[12:12:00] Traxit: this is smut stop

[Doc Holliday]

Chris paid little mind to those who came into the bar. He was entertainment and he loved what he did. As many free drink offers came to him and the occasional female schmoozing up to him, he just loved his music. He didn't care who was who, he just played.

He continued with his next song: Cutting Loose

---

[MFE]Med Force One | Tales of Recovery|Med Force Enterprises

[spacespeed]

As the Coruscating Fire completed its docking sequence upon Freeport 1, Solanus undid his seat restraints. The trip had gone smoothly, for the most part. The Taus were becoming more and more unnavigable due to, according to some rumors, three or even four-way fights breaking out with increasing frequency, so he decided to take the safer route through the Liberty and the Independent Systems instead. On his way from Shikoku to Kepler, however, his ship had been ambushed by a gunboat and several fighters. While fighters weren't much of a threat to the heavy shielding installed on the ship, a gunboat was another matter entirely, and he had been forced to expend the entire reserve of shield batteries trying to keep the shields up long enough to make the jump.

After checking to make sure everything was locked down, and instructing the Freeport personnel to resupply the ship with necessities and additional shield batteries, Solanus stepped into the tavern, and looked around intently, trying to catch the attention of the person who had called him to this place. He was in his 20s, of average height, but looked as if he could be 18 or 19. Normally, he would have ignored such odd messages, especially ones that asked him to head to locations that were far outside of his normal trade routes, but this one seemed different somehow.

His actions, or rather, lack thereof, drew the attention of a robot, which promptly walked up to him and asked if he needed any assistance.

"Yes. I'm looking for someone." he replied, not quite sure who or what exactly he was looking for.
"Sir, would you happen to be Solanus Kalenda?" it asked.
Rather surprised at the fact that the robot seemed to know his name, he replied, with some hesitation, "Yes... I am. Is there something wrong?"
"Sir, please follow me."

Curious. Very curious. He thought, as he followed the robot to a table near the window. There, he saw an older man, already seated at the table. "So, I assume you're the one who sent that message?" he asked, somewhat cautiously.

[Doc Holliday]

The crowd seemed to enjoy Chris' work so he kept on going. He always kept a gentle smile on his as he always did when he worked and said little unless addressed. He always knew when things were right when the bartender gave him a nod.

He started his next song, "Tender Surrender."
As always he let his fingers do the talking.

---

[MFE]Med Force One | Tales of Recovery|Med Force Enterprises

[Rodent]

The old man looked up slowly, sizing up the young man in front of him. His eyes were black and very sharp. Putting his drink back on the table, he motioned the other to sit.

I did not call you...but I know the ones who did. Have a drink, we'll be here for a while...

Leaning back, he glanced at the starscape once more.

Beautiful, isn't it? Anyways, You're Solanus Kenda, I believe. Can you tell me a bit more about yourself?

[spacespeed]

Well, this just gets more and more interesting, doesn't it? Solanus thought, as he took a seat. He was a bit unnerved by his gaze initially, but he had also learned to control irrational fears quite well, and he showed no hint of this as he looked towards the viewport, and looked back again. "It's quite beautiful, I guess, once one actually slows down enough to enjoy and reflect upon it. That, unfortunately, tends not to happen too often in society these days, though." he replied, with a hint of sadness, "People always seem to act first and ask questions later. It just doesn't seem to be how life should work."

"Me, personally?" he continued, "Well, I was born on Gran Canaria, moved to Erie at 12, graduated from the Manhattan Institute of Technology with a major in systems engineering and a minor in economics, and obtained my pilot's license and my ship, the Coruscating Fire, soon afterwards. As for what I do, I'm your more or less average inter-system and inter-house trader, dealing mostly in high-tech components - fusion engine components, optronics, bio-neural processors, and such, although I've moved into raw and processed material transport recently as well - more variety tends to mean higher profits, although it also means more things to keep track of."

He then ordered a glass of water from a passing robotic aide. "Never really liked alcohol of any kind. It seems to affect my mind too much, and bad things tend to happen when it is the least expected."

[Dane Summers]

The last few weeks, things had changed for Dane.
Something in the core of the spirit of him had finally been snuffed out, but been relit by a completely different fire. A change that had been long resisted, finally taking hold.

For someone who had once found it sad that people in this universe had to kill each other for any reason, Dane had taken to being a fighter pilot with vigor, and had even claimed kills. He poured over ship spec's, weapon performance tables, at the same time signing forms for citizenry applications, and resettling all the former citizens, now back from there vacations. A lot choose to stay - but the activity had blossomed on what was once a quiet station. Now, it felt busy, but still cozy. Soldiers and Mercenaries still called the place home. Freeport One had changed just as much as Dane had.

A bit out of breath, he slid into the booth, hand carrying the bottle of amber gold, along with a pair of rocks glasses, a bucket of ice, and a chilled bottle of cola.

"Sorry about the wait. My job never ends, heh"

---

[Silver]

Summers arrived with the so promised bottle. But his eyes were diferent.
Silver squinted her nose as he walked to the booth and let her.. intuition fill in the blanks.

"No worries, Summers. I can relate. And it seems you read my mind of why i am here."

She said with a smirk.
Her hand quickly grabbed the bottle and turned it to see it on a better light.

"Hmmmmm hmmmm. Where the hell you got one of these?"

Summers merely shrugged as he started to get some ice into the glasses.

Silver quickly opened the bottle and poured a good dose in each glass.
Smelling it, she purred.. And then she let the soft velvet like whiskey to go down her throat as it pleased.

"So.. Stickin' it up to the man, are we now?"

Her laugh was like silver. For it rang true.
In her eyes, Summers was a good kid that got stuck to something he loved in the middle of a bad neighborhood.

Bretonians. While their people are fair and somewhat polite, their leaders are gutless clowns with illusions of nobility. Also they are cheap arses when paying.

Rheinlanders. While their miners are hard working people, their military fight a loosing war but still true to their beliefs to the end, their leader is just another one with greatness problems. Probably wasn't breast fed enough when he was a kid. Also they are cheap arses when paying.

Corsairs. People that had the frickin' bad luck to get stuck in a hell hole, to go through an almost eternal war while going through famine, their leaders are blind. For those high and mighty horses, to basically live off piracy and keep fighting a war that is just stupid since the beginning, is just.. well.. Stupid.
And they are cheap arses when paying and wanted to starve their mercs out, go figure.

But Summer's holding it. But loosing something in return.

"Gorram death. Why don't you take them all and sort out the mess later in the grave?"

She thought while sipping the whiskey again.

---

[8:32:45 PM] Dusty Lens: Oh no, let me get that. Hello? Oh it's my grandma. She says to be roleplay.
[12:12:00] Traxit: this is smut stop