07-16-2009, 06:26 AM
Niverton Bar and Grill.
The Rogues base was a nice stop-over point for Kharashrak, mostly because it was where they herded his merchandise onto the Firefly class docked with the station. The Bar and Grill was always a required stop-over point for Kharashrak on his way through though. The Ale was as bitter as liked and the steaks cooked to perfection and spiced well to disguise whatever meat it was originally. Artificial beef most likely.
"So how's business treating you?" The Bartender, Marcus, asked as he wiped down a section of the bar for the umpteenth thousandth time.
"Acceptable, my friends on Malta are always happy for a delivery, had some trouble with the Colonial Remnant on the last run though, nearly had to eject, I dropped a third of the merchandise to distract him before making a run for it, some Outcast pilots kept him under fire though, a good distraction." Kharashrak downed the drink and relished the buzz the Cardamine in it gave him. He didn't abuse the substance like some, enough to get the benefits with a minimum of the negatives.
"Sounds like a tough run?" Marcus said in a neutral tone.
"Not overly, the aft of the bird took the impacts, most of the merchandise i'd ejected probably wouldn't have survived the run with the damage i'd taken." It was then that a trio came in through the door of the bar. They were looking for trouble, and the way their gazes turned to Kharashrak showed that they'd found what they were after. A whistle later and a good dozen or more men piled in behind them.
Marcus gave them a glance. "Need a piece?" He offered neutrally. Nobody started trouble in the Niverton Bar and Grill unless it was going to be a fair fight.
"Nah." Kharashrak pulled the DeLameter from his holster. "Hold onto this, I don't want to hurt anyone."
"You kidding, they're going to hurt you." Marcus said taking the pistol as asked.
"Nope. They'd be worth less damaged." Then from his back he pulled out a short stout cylinder thirty centimetres long.
"Hey look, the Slaver has a little stick." One remarked.
"We don't like Slavers, do we boys?" Another said.
"No." They all said simultaneously. Probably a crew from an Aboltionist Movement vessel.
Kharashrak flicked a switch on the handle and a six foot long rope of energy extended crackling. An electrowhip. A Slavers control measure.
"Who's first?" Kharashrak said his gravelly voice piercing the silence of the room.
Then they charged. The Electrowhip crackled and lashed out and offenders the neural stun energies dropping men where they where, for five minutes the crackling energy rope lashed about before silence once again reigned.
One man stood further back with a carbine pointed at Kharashrak's torso. "Drop the whip." He said.
"Don't you know Darwins laws?" Kharashrak said.
"Survival of the fittest." He answered.
"Thats right." At that moment the poor bastard looked down to see a collar snap shut around his neck as Kharashrak's crew came into the bar with light arms held professionally. "Collar this lot and toss it into the hold. They should fetch a heft price, I hear the Maltese like breaking these sort."
"Nicely done." Marcus said as he handed Kharashrak his DeLameter.
"Thanks." He looked at the last few being collared. "It's been a good day overall."
The Rogues base was a nice stop-over point for Kharashrak, mostly because it was where they herded his merchandise onto the Firefly class docked with the station. The Bar and Grill was always a required stop-over point for Kharashrak on his way through though. The Ale was as bitter as liked and the steaks cooked to perfection and spiced well to disguise whatever meat it was originally. Artificial beef most likely.
"So how's business treating you?" The Bartender, Marcus, asked as he wiped down a section of the bar for the umpteenth thousandth time.
"Acceptable, my friends on Malta are always happy for a delivery, had some trouble with the Colonial Remnant on the last run though, nearly had to eject, I dropped a third of the merchandise to distract him before making a run for it, some Outcast pilots kept him under fire though, a good distraction." Kharashrak downed the drink and relished the buzz the Cardamine in it gave him. He didn't abuse the substance like some, enough to get the benefits with a minimum of the negatives.
"Sounds like a tough run?" Marcus said in a neutral tone.
"Not overly, the aft of the bird took the impacts, most of the merchandise i'd ejected probably wouldn't have survived the run with the damage i'd taken." It was then that a trio came in through the door of the bar. They were looking for trouble, and the way their gazes turned to Kharashrak showed that they'd found what they were after. A whistle later and a good dozen or more men piled in behind them.
Marcus gave them a glance. "Need a piece?" He offered neutrally. Nobody started trouble in the Niverton Bar and Grill unless it was going to be a fair fight.
"Nah." Kharashrak pulled the DeLameter from his holster. "Hold onto this, I don't want to hurt anyone."
"You kidding, they're going to hurt you." Marcus said taking the pistol as asked.
"Nope. They'd be worth less damaged." Then from his back he pulled out a short stout cylinder thirty centimetres long.
"Hey look, the Slaver has a little stick." One remarked.
"We don't like Slavers, do we boys?" Another said.
"No." They all said simultaneously. Probably a crew from an Aboltionist Movement vessel.
Kharashrak flicked a switch on the handle and a six foot long rope of energy extended crackling. An electrowhip. A Slavers control measure.
"Who's first?" Kharashrak said his gravelly voice piercing the silence of the room.
Then they charged. The Electrowhip crackled and lashed out and offenders the neural stun energies dropping men where they where, for five minutes the crackling energy rope lashed about before silence once again reigned.
One man stood further back with a carbine pointed at Kharashrak's torso. "Drop the whip." He said.
"Don't you know Darwins laws?" Kharashrak said.
"Survival of the fittest." He answered.
"Thats right." At that moment the poor bastard looked down to see a collar snap shut around his neck as Kharashrak's crew came into the bar with light arms held professionally. "Collar this lot and toss it into the hold. They should fetch a heft price, I hear the Maltese like breaking these sort."
"Nicely done." Marcus said as he handed Kharashrak his DeLameter.
"Thanks." He looked at the last few being collared. "It's been a good day overall."