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Bowex · 08-01-2011, 10:38 PM,

"Vomiting in the plant pots will get you thrown out. Sex behind the plant pots will get you barred. Be
good and play nice." -Sullivan.

While Lancaster may be Bowex's space-faring HQ, its heart and soul can be found on Scarborough Shipyard. A mixing pot of all of Bowex's branches, Scarborough represents one of Bowex's most diverse stations. Trade Combine captains can rub shoulders with Services shipwrights and Colonial Authority bureaucrats, while dining with their ExSec comrades.

Scarborough also attracts a lion's share of BAF and BPA, assigned to keep the Newcastle system's industrial heart beating. Usually on R&R from the Leeds front and the Cambridge Picket respectively, these war-weary veterans are treated with awe and respect by the local staff. Bounty Hunters and mercenaries also make heavy use of the station, each seeking the Molly and Gaian scalps that will keep them in bread, board and bombs.

Under the dedicated watch of Supervisor and bartender James Sullivan, the day to day running of the Blue Lion is unusually smooth (considering the personalities he is up against). His team of chefs, bar-staff and bouncers ensure the men and women of Scarborough are fed, entertained and behaving.

Scott MacFarlane · 08-02-2011, 01:00 AM,

A tall, large man, built like a Greco-Roman wrestler with graying hair and goatee, and wearing a MacFarlane tartan kilt and Bowex Captain's jacket practically falls through the door. He's followed by a thin man in similar attire, a handsome, dark haired woman in a Bowex light jumpsuit, and a smallish, somewhat mousy, blonde haired man who doesn't look old enough to drink. Wearing a Bowex officer's jacket and slacks, his face is buried in a pocket date-PC. Behind them enters a tall, graceful, redhaired woman with the looks and poise of a model, but she stands-out primarily for being the only one not in Bowex attire wearing designer slacks and a white Delouse shirt made from Cambridge cotton. She bends over the last person to enter: A short bald man with a sharp beard and Bowex maintenance coveralls tied around his waist. He reaches up with a lighter to light the cigerette dangling from the red-head's mouth. The large man in front spreads his arms wide to all the patrons inside the Pub. His armspan looks as though he could encompass the entire room. He smiles broadly before he speaks in a booming voice.

"Alrighty lads and lassies! We had a good flight in from Gran Canaria! The Empress' Legs is open again! Ta celebrate, the next four rounds be on me!"

The patrons cheer their thanks as the large man looks around for friends to greet

"That's right lads! Drink up! Nothin ta worry over till tomm......err..."

He stops speakin suddenly when he spies the new "rules" sign

"Sullivan! Wat ta Hell is 'hat!", he says as he jabs a finger at the sign. "No sex behind the plant pots?? What are ye? Some kinda.....FASCIST!?

**jammi** · 08-02-2011, 05:24 PM,

Andrew Peterson slipped into the 'Lion behind MacFarlane's Mob. He was fresh out of the Leeson's cockpit, and cradled his flight helmet in the crook of his elbow. The oxygen feed was wrapped around his forearm, with the connector plug dangling. Ducking under the good captain's arm, he slapped Scott on the shoulder as he sailed past.

"Not like you were ever going to make use of those plant pots anyway, ey?" He zipped off to the shelter of the bar before MacFarlane could swat him off his feet and throw him at something. There was a security guard mooching there, with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He even towered over Scott. "I bet they call you Cuddles, don't they?" Andrew grinned.

Slowly it turned to leer at him. "No," it replied shortly. "They call me Grimm." He withdrew his left hand from one of the deep pockets and laid it on the bar with a clunk, revealing a skeletal construction of bare metal. An augmented security guard.

"I bet you rule this place with an iron fist," Peterson quipped. There was a long and awkward silence.

"No," he withdrew the other hand, which was similarly augmented. "Two." Andrew winced. "I lost them in an unfortunate fishing incident." Andrew tilted his head to one side and peered at the guard quizzically. After a moment, he shrugged and turned to Sullivan.

"I'll have a pint of Cragmers Cambridge cider. It's on Mr MacFarlane over there - you can stick it on his tab."

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TheProphet · 08-02-2011, 05:41 PM,

Aaron Clark had just landed on the station when he noticed "Leeson" stationed there. As he was removing himself from the cockpit of his beloved "Sheridan" he thought he should perhaps avoid the Lion for now. Sadly, the man needed his alcoholic beverage and was slightly mad so he decided to enter.

The bulky man entered the bar, just in time to hear the Flight Instructor's failed joke.

"Oi, waiter. One pint of lager for over there, the spot next to that sod, I'll be there. Put it on his tab. Don't worry, we know eachother."

He walked over to the Flight Instructor, inspecting the lasses untill he reached him, and slapped him on the back.
"How are you holding up, you old sod, sah? Hope the lads on Cambridge didn't give you too much of a thrashing."

**jammi** · 08-02-2011, 06:17 PM,

Peterson stiffened, his face losing its jovial quality. He paused to take a draw from his pint before turning around and giving Aaron a cool appraisal. "No, they didn't. They agreed that you were an utter berk, then let me go." He took another sip, attempting to ignore Mr Clark's somewhat aggravating grin.

One of the women he had passed caught him peering at her breasts and gave him the one finger salute. Peterson sniggered. "Be careful Aaron, I wouldn't want to see you being paddled by a woman." The bartender scribbled some notes down on his jotting-paper. Two pints on a Mr MacFarlane.

Suddenly Peterson froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He could feel a dark presence on his soul, an enity of pure fury bearing down on him, hundreds of light-years distant. He seemed to hear something on the very edge of audibility. "PPPEEEETTTEEERRSSSOOONNNNNNN!!!" He shuddered and turned back to his drink, unnerved.

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TheProphet · 08-02-2011, 11:30 PM,

"Did they now?" Aaron continued grinning, knowing it would further irritate the flight instructor "I thought it was the opposite. They kept telling me how skillful the dodge was, and how you were a mad man for refusing the security services of a professional from Leeds."

He took a sip of his drink when he noticed how terrified the instructor looked.

"Hm," he said, stroking his rough goatee, "I'm surprised they let you out with no problem. Still, you're the sah, I wouldn't press any charges against you. I'm also kind of surprised I didn't have to make the face you're making right now."

"And don't worry about the lasses, I know what I'm doing"

Scott MacFarlane · (This post was last modified: 08-03-2011, 10:55 AM by Scott MacFarlane.)

MacFarlane clamped Aaron on the shoulder enthusiastically, hard enough to make the smaller man spill half of his drink. He smiled broadly.

"Oh do ye now? Know what ye be doin that is? That'd be a first." He laughed as he took the stool on the other side next to Peterson, who for a moment looked like he had seen a ghost in the racks of bottles behind the bar. Turning to face Sullivan he ordered his usual pint of dark draught.

The short bald man in Bowex maintenance coveralls climbed up onto the stool next to him. He was barely half his Captain's size.

'Whisssssky' he hissed to Sullivan, then jerked his thumb to his right at the big man indicating it would be on his Captain's tab.

Sullivan grinned. 'Good news Munro. Got in some bottles of MacGregor. You want the first one straight as usual, then the follow ups on ice?'

Munro perked up at the name of his favorite label. 'Aye!' he answered quite happily. 'and keep 'em coming until I grows back me hair!'

The redhead leaned in between MacFarlane and Munro and snuffed out her cigarette in the tray on the bar. She pointed to her Captain's glass and in a Manhattan accent ordered the same, then she also jerked her thumb in his direction. She promptly turned around and fully leaned against the larger man, like she might a lamppost. As she did she surveyed the rest of the pub and asked:

'Did you boys hear something a moment ago? Sounded like an enraged bear, with his paw caught in a trap.'

'No I didn't.' MacFarlane replied, a little testily. His expression had begun to grow increasingly sour by the minute. Maybe he'd made a mistake. One thing was for sure. It was going to be an expensive night.

**jammi** · 08-03-2011, 03:53 PM,

Andrew submerged himself in the room's ambience, allowing the waves of conversation to roll over him. Enveloped by the hum of gossip, idle chatter and surrounded by the frivolities of employees on their break, his worries eased away. He drank slowly, listening to MacFarlane's crew. Scott himself wasn't looking happy, realising the folly of his jubilant declaration. Already a small crowd of Services technicians had use it as an opportunity to buy and burn through three rounds of shots. A haughty looking Colonial Authority clerk purchased a frilly-looking pink cocktail, then stalked off with his nose in the air.

"No I didn't," Scott replied to his female crewmate gruffly.

"It might have been an echo from the air-con systems? Noise tends to rattle around through them," Peterson ventured. "It can be quite troublesome during the night-cycle when the lights are dimmed. You can't quite tell where a sound is coming from." He swilled his pint around the glass, realising morosely that there was only half left. He brightened up as he remembered there were another three to go.

Before anyone else could interject, his PDA went off. A few seconds later, so did Scott's, then Aaron's and a smattering of other bar-goers. Bemused, Andrew pulled the little pocket computer out and prodded the screen. There was a system-wide comm message being dispatched by HQ, from the InfoNet. That was a rarity. He tapped it open, then skim-read the contents.

Andrew's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell! Scott, check your PDA!"

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Scott MacFarlane · (This post was last modified: 08-03-2011, 10:33 PM by Scott MacFarlane.)

MacFarlane looked up from his glass, "Hmmm?" was all he said in response, but as he took another deep pull he pulled out his PDA and tapped the keys with his other hand as it came to life. Finding the incoming message, firmly fixated on the brightly lit screen, his eyes began to bulge out of their sockets.

"No, this didn't sound like the AC unit." Sally continued saying. "It sounded like an enraged animal. Could just barely make out, don't laugh, but it was yelling your name."

Munro looked up from his own glass of MacGregors. "sumfin wrong Capt'in? Ye look like a Maltan Leech has got ye face."

MacFarlane suddenly spit out an entire mouthful of beer all over the bar, and having a large mouth, meant the amount of beer was significant.

"MAC!" Sullivan hollered, "What tha hell man! Ye ok?"

MacFarlane held the PDA out away from him as though it was some slimy creature that might attack and try to eat his face at any moment. "ba..blu.blurg...ba..ba. but.. but.. they... why?" was all he could get out.

"Well that confirms it." Sally quipped. "He's either finally lost it or something is really wrong"

She reached over and snatched the PDA from Scott's weakening grip and quickly read the message on the screen. Then her jaw dropped open. The she started to laugh. Then she started to guffaw in an unusally unlady-like fashion.

"What tha hell? What is it?" Munro asked as the little man tried in vain to grab the PDA as Sally deftly snatched it away. She held it high over her head and to the entire pub announced:

"Attention friends and patrons! Our Captain, the esteemed, and always in trouble scalawag, Master MacFarlane has been:" she paused for effect.

"Arrested? A warrant is out for his arrest?" Fraser asked. The first mate had been angry with the captain ever since the engagement with the Kusari battleships a month ago. "Finally happened. I knew this day would come!"

Sally just shook her head.

'Gotten some young girl pregnant and now they're after him for paternity?' Penny asked. 'Ye old lecher'

Sally again shook her head. Mac just groaned in pain.

Gordon looked up from his own overclocked and heavily modified PDA, 'Samura has bounty on his head for the diamond shipment we absconded with?'

Sally again shook her head, this time a little impatiently.

'Started yet another war?' Munro asked with his arms crossed.

'NO!' Sally bit out. Mac groaned deeper.

'Then what isssss it lassss? Out with it' Munro hissed.

'Well. Our dear Captain. Has been. Promoted to Department Manager of Trade and Shipping!' Sally exclaimed.

Eyes popped all around the pub, even from those who didn't know Mac very well. For a moment there was only silence. Even the ancient juke box held its breath.

Then there were suddenly cheers of congratulations and pats on the back. MacFarlane flailed his tree-trunk arms at the well-wishers in an effort to try to hold them off.

'Oy! Oy!' He exclaimed. 'Why don't ye give that rot ta Peterson. He made Director of ExSec afterall!'

The crowd then began slapping Peterson on the back too as Mac turned back to the bar and hung over his beer.

'What's the matter now Mac?' Sullivan asked him. 'Ye should be happy. But instead ye look like you've lost yer mum.'

'I was afraid this day would come Sullivan. Afraid it would' Scott replied.

'An what day would that be?' Sullivan pressed.

Scott answered with a sigh.'The day I became.. well'¦ respectable.

**jammi** · 08-03-2011, 10:18 PM,

Over the crowds and congratulations, Andrew's PDA beeped. Then it beeped again. And again, and again. The last manager of ExSec had been notoriously fickle with his paperwork, and the whole caseload had just been dropped on his shoulders. His jaw dropped again as he scanned through his now full inbox to find five crimson HIGH ALERT IMMEDIATE RESPONSE messages lodged there. He was already coming to rue his promotion to middle-management.

Over the clamorous noise, he shouted his thanks to various well-wishers, then battled his way through to Scott, who was now concealed by a wall of sycophantic Services personnel, probably hoping for another free round. Aaron was somewhere inside the crowd too, but Andrew had lost sight of him. He didn't think that was a particularly bad thing.

Grasping Scott's shoulder, he cleared a little space, shooing a few of the more boisterous and irksome toadies out of the way. "You're not going to believe this - I had my annual leave booked for tomorrow! I was going to be spending two weeks on the violet foothills of New London!" He held up his PDA. "Look what those ruddy bastards have dropped on me! I'm going to be on Lancaster all night sorting this lot out." He thumbed his PDA and muted it, to silence the beeps that were still flooding in.

"Typical. Absolutely ruddy typical. I'll see you in the Manager's Lounge later on, Scott. Terribly sorry I've got to cut this short." At that he forced his way out (using his helmet alternately as a battering ram and a mace) and ran for the Leeson. If he pulled an all-nighter on Lancaster, he could probably square away the urgent requests before his shuttle on New London departed. He hoped.

There went two weeks of relaxation out the window.

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