Walter sat back in his seat, sipping something that was most certainly not the Rheinland-brand beer he ordered. Was the blockade bad enough that he couldn't find the stuff even on a smuggler's hideout?
A loud man with an eyepatch came in yelling. Walter chuckled, since it wasn't unlike his manner when entering a new system. However, the drunkard's shouts started to annoy him more and more as the fool got closer to the bar, complaining about prison or something.
"Philips," he said to one of the four men standing guard around him.
"Yes, sir?"
"You see zat man over zere? Ze loud one, ja. Shut him up, please. He's bozering me."
"Aye sir, I'll see what I can do."
"Gut. Norrell, go viz him."
As the two Bretonians walked over to the bar, Walter noticed something and raised his palm to his face, but refrained from sending Roberts or Cardei over to them. Especially not Cardei. He'd probably chuck a grenade if the man so much as looked at him funny.
'Fine navigator, mein foot. Philips can't so much as remember his own pistol...' Walter thought to himself.
Philips and Norrell looked at each other, then at their boss, sitting at his table with his hand covering his face. Finally, the former spoke while the other let his arm fall to his hip stealthily in case anything got out of hand.
"Erm, well, you see, sir..." said Philips, somewhat nervous. Who knew what this bloke was capable of? "You're making quite a racket, you know. Some of the people here might appreciate it if you were more quiet. Like, you know...captain Gubelin over there," he said, pointing towards the table. As he did, Walter noticed and glared at the navigator, internally wondering for the umpteenth time whether he should just through Philips out the airlock.
(06-14-2019, 12:25 PM)Sombra Hookier Wrote: If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.
A noise clanking noise is heard as a ship seems to enter the hangar of Rochester Base. A rather strange sound is amplified as engines are turned off and the opening of the ship hatchet creates a 'rippling' sound, the scene is quiet as a voice is heard amongst the silence outside Rochester Inn's entrance.
'This way, Eldars' said a calm yet fierce voice, with a tone of command to it.
The doors to the inn's 'bar' area open and three men walk in capturing the attention of everyone within the room. The three figures where in a triangular formation, in the front a man of about sixfoot seven in height in black robes which covered his black armoured breastplate with what appeared to be a silver coloured ribcage lining the breastplate. In the center, a 'ruby' gem in the center, it seemed to glow with power and two similar yet bigger versions were implanted amongst his black shoulderplates. His helmet was of a cone shape covering his whole face, a black hood like thing, with a white facemask where two glowing eyes lay and another 'ruby' gem in the forhead with a few red lights on the sides, a very sofisticated and advanced 'suit'. A 'ponytail' of black hair hung out of the top of the helmet, a silver handled 'dark blade' at his grasp used as a 'walking stick'... its presence was impacting, a dark aura abouts it which left most in awe. At his side still remained two men of his same height yet they were 'encased' within white biosuits which seemed to blend within the body yet where scale like amongst the knees,thighs,shins,forearms etc. Their helmets where also conelike with a black 'ponytail' emerging from the helmets tip. The two men carried spear like weapons with a gun on the edge, very advanced laser like guns with a blade also as their commanders on the edge of the spear towards the tip.
The men walked towards the barman to ask for a drink, although they were in a Rogue ship and seemed to be of Liberty Rogue affiliated figures, the men seemed 'different'... The tone of the mans voice and his appearance and actions beneath his mask although unseen seemed to indicate a more regal, imperial or elder figure...
'Three waters please'The middle man asked for. He was a demoralizing and impacting figure to look upon.
The bartender nodded and put them on the table speechless. The men picked up a glass each and took a seat on a table near the glass looking outwards from the base and spoke.
'So men, we are regal figures in this universe, of a more imperial race, tougher, more agile, and intellectually more advanced than the races amongst us, show it, you are slacking. Our ship is not much, of power but nothing we are used to, and our affiliated race, allies, we must abide by their rules, sounds absurd but...'The black robed figure spoke and the others listened attentively as one spoke.
'I agree commander Yriel, Mougan, calm down you seem tense in our 'new' atmosphere and conditions'One of the 'bodyguards' spoke, his helmet had a scarr over the left eye and the glow was removed from it.
'I understand commander Yriel, and I am uncomfortable Eldrad, because these are not conditions I am used to, I do not like our 'regal' and 'imperial' approaches, I am accustomed to our quick and agile attacks and discussions as were back home so let us just please get through this night here and hopefully tomorrow will be a better day'.The other 'bodyguard' replied as he threw his body backwards on the chair into a 'lying' position.
The other two men, by the names of Yriel and Eldrad still sat, perfectly position looking very disciplined, a very impacting site of disciplined and formal men, their speech, reactions, movement and appearance and character in general indicated they were of an elder race. Adressing themselves as the Eldar. Affiliated with the Liberty Rogues, these figures seemed awkward and mysterious... They continued to drink and talk in the bar, after the water ordered alcoholic beverages and spoke, laughed and seemed to be having a good time. Yet even under the influence of alcohol the figures still remained as disciplined, imperial and regal as they did when they entered.
A man walks into the bar in his mid 30s, looking like his mid 40s. A scar on his face, black, dirty hands and an almost bald head. The only perfect feature which distinguished him from every other ugly, disgusting scumbag in this bar were his pristine white teeth.
Liberty ale if ye please sah
Everyone could tell he was a cockney bretonian.
Here, one liberty ale, that'll be 5 credits sir
He handed over the money.
Thank ye mai' say 'ave one on me!
He sat down in the corner of the bar looking lonesome, begging for some company.
A young man came into the bar, though he looked more like an animated corpse. His skin was pale and paper-thin. A pair of reflective goggles covered his eyes, resting safely above the protruding cheekbones. He wore a white, beaming lab-coat which was only a shade brighter than his face. The hands were covered by a pair of dark kevlar gloves, ending just below the fingertips.
Damn, he thought. No ship, no money, no contacts... but it was worth it, was it not? The operation had succeeded, however scarring. No use complaining, then. He would rest, maybe try getting in touch with the Lane Hackers again - once he at least had a ship, that is. Until then, he could work from here, as he once did.
Wearily, he sat at the table with Professor Lanakov.
"Hello, it's been a while. Our plan... well, it worked, though not without incident. Perhaps later I'll... but how have you been, my friend?"
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A young man, of an indeterminate age that is quite obviously less than eighteen walks into the bar. He is wearing an "assorted" outfit consisting of the typical IMG sort of outfit, badly mangled, and an infrared goggle over his left eye. He looks quite out of place in this den of disrepute. He goes up to the bar and mutters something to the man behind the counter. He slides a credit card over the bar and the bartender simply hands him a large mug and a bottle of what is labeled as being Kusari Sake but is filled with a liquid quite obviously not sake. He heads to a table in the corner and props his feet up on the table, leans back against the wall, and pours himself some of the foul-looking liquid, downing it in a few seconds. He rests the back of his head on his hands and gazes around, calmly and analytically taking in every single detail of his surroundings, prepared for anything.
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