McCool's Tavern - Freeport 1

[Dane Summers]

The place was a mess - ply wood, construction alloys neo lights and signs, both packed and semi-unpacked. The bar was just a shell of what it would become later - the Drinks were sitting in heavy industrial crates marked as "Light Arms" - Everything else was sitting inside an industrial refrigerator. A workman was sitting on top of it sipping a soda, while another was tapping a pad, adding in the new building materials - namely the sheets of gold, silver, the gemstones, the gaming machines (which sat again a wall, wrapped in plastic to protect their pristine shining surface).
Ussually the place was a ruckus of power tools, yelling, materials banging together or hitting the floor, or the roar of the new Jukebox (which was hooked up day one). But today it was quiet - the army of workman were gone, and only two stood doing inventory. A sign outside was lit, saying the place was open, and the "bartender" (ussually a work foremen) on duty counted tabs and collected credits. the place was silent as a grave.

Taking the last pull off the soda, and whiping his beaded brow with the back of his hand, the worker, a young man in his twenties who had signed up for a mining crew in O7, but found ship life not to his liking. Heavy labor was his specialty, and helping rebuild the different aspects of Freeport 1 was good pay for easy work.
"So, Sal, whats the deal with that guy?" he thumbed over to the young man who sat in the corner.

The second guy, older, heavier set, and wizened by age and years of solid work, looked up from inventory. "What? you dunno who the administrator is? Thats that Summers kid."

"Yeah...but...he's just sittin' over there...he do that often?"

"Naw...dunno really. Leave him be Kiro."

The young laborer just shrugged, pulled out a neural net pad, and began reading mail from home.

----

Dane sat in the corner, far away as he could get. He lounged back on an industrial spool frame of wrapped heavy power cable. His back to the wall, next to a slightly charred hull armor plate from a Liberty Siege Cruiser marked as the LNS Walker. A hand painted note said "Gift from The Order".

He had his guitar in hand, and for the first time, he didn't feel content. He felt tired. Worn, used up. But the emotions inside were always at full power. They swam within, making his breath ragged, and his heart shudder. His knuckles drummed against the wall as he starred for a thousand miles. The emotions in him were reaching there peak...and he had to release them...

A song came to his lips...it always that easy. Hands moved to the proper chords, and a light strumming set the melody. It was low, solemn, melancholy, but with an undercurrent of hope. It rose and fell, as the song came...quiet at first...but it picked up...

"I climbed up a mountain...and looked off the edge..."

"...at all of the lives that I never have led..."

"There was one where i stayed with you across the sea...I wonder if you still think of me..."

"I carry your image always in my head...folded and yellowed and torn at the edge..."

"...and I've looked upon it for so many years...slowly...I'm loosing your face..."

Dane let out a low breath, trying to carry the emotions out, trying to breathe them out, trying to release the pressure, in hopes that it didn't overwhelm him. He took another breath, and continued the song, this time a bit louder...

"Oh~~~~~~~...the ocean rolls us'away...away...away..."

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(Free for any posts)

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[Doc Holliday]

John Holliday had just finished several hours of fixing broken limbs, putting on bandages and performing surgery on those in need after the recent attack on the base. He wasn't so much tired as he was disgruntled.
"Another attack on this place," he grumbled as he removed his bloody smock and tossed it into a laundry bin. In only a TAZ T-shirt and sweats, he headed for the bar for some food and drink. He wasn't alone although the others were a bit upset. The construction and attacks didn't leave the place with much to drink.

"Well, Doctor," asked the bartender, "what's the good word?"
"Oh, just some more lives saved is all," he answered, "Now, food and drink."
The bartender sighed, "Well, Doc, not much here for drink although with the food supplies coming in we have a better menu now."
Doc nodded, "I figured as much. I had the crew of my shuttle unload some of our liquor stock. Corsair rum, Coalition Vodka, Liberty Ale and more."
"Wait," said the barkeep as he headed out back, Doc smiling the whole time. When he returned, "Um...Doc...Thank you. That'll keep things going for a good while." He then got close to him and whispered, "Where did you get this stuff?"
Doc smirked and whispered, "Never mind!"

The barkeep perked right up, "So Mr. Holliday, what'll it be?"
"Some of that fine Cambridge steak, Canaria veggies and a Rheinland strudel for dessert," he ordered.
"Done!" said the barkeep. Doc then took a bottle of Scotch over to his table and poured a glass, sipping as he waited.

---

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

[Dane Summers]

The flickering neon sign next to the tavern entry way was hanging askew, probably knocked a bit off by the rumbling through the station a few days ago. It pulsed its red hopeful message of "OPEN" as best it could. it seems that in that in all the chaos of the last few days, no one bothered to right it. As he reached out to lift the right corner up, it just slid back down, flickering all the more in protest. A wave of dizziness from the prior concussion washed over Dane, and he had to shut his eyes so as not to throw up.

He walked in, and didnt notice John at the bar. his vision was still a bit blurry, and his legs hurt. His arm hurt, and his chest hurt. The rest of his body was sore. Everything else just seemed numb. The only thing that wasn't was Dane himself. Always so full of emotion, burning so strongly, the last few days had wrung out of him every last drop. But there was always more. always.

Sal, acting as bartender today, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, intending to mix a Jack & Coke, but hesitated. He reached for a soda, but then, kept mixing the drink. A little alcohol calmed the nerves. And the kid looked like he could use it.
he set the drink on the table, but Dane passed it by. He saw his guitar against the wall where he had left it - with purposed steps he walked over, picked it up, and just stared at it. It felt like it had been months since he'd touched it, even though it had only been days.

He pulled up a seat at the bar, his guitar in hand, unwrapped his arm out of its sling, placed his hands in the old familiar places, like caressing an old flame, that girl you never stopped loving. Just a brush of his fingertips, and that old song came whispering back.

It was that quick. That old love came back. that old calling. he reached out, took a slow sip from the drink, and smiled. His fingers moved across chords, and a folksy melody emerged. As it gained in power, a whisper of a song emerged from Dane's lips.

"Now i was only five...when my dad told me...i'd die."

"I cried as he said 'Son'...'Aint nothin' to be done..."

eyes close, nodding his head with the beat, it was joined by his stomping foot, producing a percussion rhythm, to the ever increasing melody of the guitar.

"Now. All. The. Fist's. I've. Thrown....only tryin' to prove him wrong"

"...But after all the blood I spilled...only tryin' to get killed..."

"And I've already suffered...I want you to know...that i'm ridin' on hell's hot flames...

"...comin' up from below..."

---

[Jeremy Hunter]

Jeremy entered the tavern silently. Between hos small amount of medicalersonell and the TAZ, everything was going well. After stopping at the bar and getting a shot of Coalition Vodka that was there, he drained it and returned the glass. After finding a spot to lie,down, he settled himself and listened to Dane. Freeport 1 was safe for now. But if BBC was right, this tranquil scene could become hell. Strudels and Sake versus Crumpets and Ale.

Jeremy sighed and,resigned himself to the music.

---

May you ever walk in the Light, Shizune.

[jimmy Patterson]

<it had been 24 hours sense his arrival and subsequent communications attempts with both the administrator and his own command,he had taken it upon himself to take action,and so he proceeded to the bar ,the tavern ironically being one of the best info sources in system>

"gimme a Denver twister,on the rocks with a shot of that vodka" with his drink in hand the 6'1 220lbs ex marine sat down adjusting a clearly visible vest and sidearm he wore for security reasons due to the hostile environment after flashing his old Liberty Marine Dog Tags to the guards who asked no questions,he always had them. he wore some grey fatigues a rag tag leather "bomber jacket",one traced to his original earthbound family he had nano-replicated, and a grey tanktop,spotting Jeremy he sat down>" well this place has gone to hell and back huh?" he said as he took a hit from his drink "think my cover will hold,a retired marine vet turned Merc?" he asked as he scanned the room>

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kudos tommeh for sig

[Doc Holliday]

Doc watched as Dane walked in. He then listened as he played. As he did, thoughts of his piano back at Tombstone went through his head and he smiled. "Too bad they didn't have a piano here," he thought to himself. With the other patrons coming in and finding a place to settle, things seemed normal for the time being. Doc's food order still not up, he walked over to Dane.

"Good to see that you can play that in your condition," Doc said to him, "gives me satisfaction that I did my staff did there jobs right. When you're done, come over and join me for some dinner. We should talk a bit."

With that, Doc returned to his seat.

---

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

[Jeremy Hunter]

"Hey Jimmy. Yep, hell. Good thing all this help arived."

Jeremy sighed as the bartender sent over a glass of root beer that had,been given from the Ghost Eye's stores.

"Why are you hear Jimmy?"

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May you ever walk in the Light, Shizune.

[qwertypp7]

A party of seven men and two women entered the bar and sat down around a large circular spool of heavy duty electrical wire pushed on its side, pulling up crates and a few scattered chairs to sit on. All nine were dressed in black Order uniforms. Most bore evidence of recent injuries.
The oldest among them, a seemingly aged man wearing a captains dress uniform with freshly treated shrapnel wounds covering half of his already scarred and pockmarked face, placed a datapad down on the improvised table. Rough stubble covered the half of his face that had not been shaved clean to treat his injuries and his eyes were weary with travel.
"Alright," he began, "I know we've already been through hell, but we're not done yet."
He switched the datapad on and brought up a map display.
"As far as the data indicated," he bagan, pointing to the map, "the Hepshetsut was adrift at these coordinates when the rescue party arrived."
He brought up another pannel, this time a ship schematic.
"The hull was reported as being shot full of holes and we know from the battle that the engines were the first thing to go," he said, pointing to various parts of the schematic as components flashed red at his touch.
He sat back on his crate and looked to a young man no older than twenty five wearing an engineers uniform.
"Wallace," he bagan, "since Balleto didn't make it out, you're our new head engineer."
The young man bowed his head briefly and gulped before looking up to meet the captain's gaze and nodding solemly.
"Once we board the wreck," continued the captain, "you and your party will head straight to the engine room with the fresh components and bring the engines back on-line."
He mapped out the route with his finger on the schematic.
"These Corvos are rugged things, so this should be a cake-walk compared to the Reshephs you trained on."
He turned to a man to his immediate left wearing a scuffed and battered suit of matte black combat armour. Above the heavy sealant ring where the vacuum sealed combat helmet was normally attached, the mans face was badly scarred from plasma burns, his head devoid of hair.
"Von Clause, since you and your marines are the only ones with proper vacuum gear, we'll need you on the outer hull, patching up the worst of the holes," said the captain, "without the worst of the damage patched, the whole ship will fall apart the second we bring the thing up to cruise speed."
"You can count on us captain," the fearsome looking man replied, the Rheinland accent pronouncing itself as he smiled grimly "although don't expect us to do zis often ja?"
A subdued chuckle passed around the group at this.
"Now, Mac'Callegh," the captain went on, turning to a firey haired woman to his right, "you will accompany me to the bridge and take the helm in preparation for our departure while I bring the ships systems back online."
"Aye I'll get her outa' there cap'n don't ye' worry," she replied, smiling broadly under a badly broken nose and a gash held together with strips of sterile medical tape.
The captain looked round at the group, bracing himself on his knees with his hands, wincing slightly from an injury concealed by his uniform.
"Once we have propulsion and the hull is patched up, we'll bring the marines back on-board and get the hell out of Omega 58 as fast as we can," he said, "hopefully we can get the Hepshetsut back to Evora for a full repair without the nomads knowing we were even back."
At the mention of the nomads, the group went silent and an air of quite reflection came over the group. They sat like that for a minute or so until the captain spoke again.
"I know we haven't had the best luck with the Hepshetsut so far," he began, "us being the only survivors from her first major engagement and all..."
He paused and looked to the floor for a second.
"But we knew what we were getting into when we chased that gunboat into '58 and when we were taken out of action, I know none of us were expecting to survive."
He paused again to look each of the crew in the eyes.
"As far as I'm concerned, you all gave your lives so we could get the word out," he continued, "and we should all be damn proud about what we did."
He stopped and let his words sink in.
"Now, go get yourselves some drinks on my tab and lets celebrate before we head out," he said, "0600 hours tomorrow in the starboard hanger."
A collective cheer went up from the small group and they waved over the bartender to take their orders...

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Dublin Miner: I am Gallic admiral earning money in Bretonia.

True story...

[Dane Summers]

Dane looked up, still nodding his head an keeping beat, gave a wink at Doc signaling that he would, and then just continued singing. with every verse, his voice got steadily louder, as the emotion within fueld the song. It was always catharsis with Dane...the cleansing, the rebirth, and the pure release of all the emotions that always threatened to overwhelm him.

"To. All. That. Love. I've. Lost....Hey...Just tryin' to play Boss..."

"To. All. Those. Friends. Ive~~~'hurt~~~~.....oooooooooh'I treated 'em like~~~~~ dirt...."

"ooooooo'and all those words that I spewed! Nothing Sacred! Nothing true!

"To. All. These. Ghosts. I've~~~Turned~~~~~'well~~~~~~'Im ready now...to burn..."

"And I've already suffered...I want you to know...that i'm ridin' on hell's hot flames...

"...comin' up from below..."

---

[kpjwateridge]

So far unnoticed and completely ignored, Kazai Nakara sat alone in the farthest edge of the bar. The most recent attack had managed, via some unfortunate set of circumstance, to damage the docking releases that kept his battered transport moored to the station. He was, for all intents and purposes, stuck. Stuck in an area of space where someone from Kusari is rare. Relations between Kusari and Rheinland had improved over the years and, as if on a international politics see-saw, war with Bretonia had crushed what respect Kusari and the Brets had for one another.

Kusari are rare to venture from home now.

At the sight of the congregation that had gathered around a table, Kazai chuckled inwardly. Ever since the Order had somehow, mysteriously saved Sirius from impending doom; they had grown more and more bold. They were still not an immediate presence in the houses, but their shadowy operatives could be found quite easily, if you were looking. They were masters at "being seen but not noticed". Clearly, this group had missed some memo about that; cheering and boisterous, they had appeared to abandon typical Order modus operandi. Their funeral.

He picked out a small information Pad and examined it. The cargo hold of the Esashi-Maru was emptied and his H-Fuel cargo sold. Being part of the GMG had it's uses; namely one of the most sought after commodities in the known worlds. He was scheduled to return through Rheinland; pick up some food rations or oxygen on the return trip to the Naha.

Looked like it would be a long wait, though. Great.

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