"What a bloody day! Chased by Hunters, pirated two Heavy Tankers, went floatin' around Liberty t' find some smugglin' routes, got hailed by a Junker t' help with a hunt. Which was actually more amazin' than fightin' the hunted!"
He laughed pulling out a small chip and slide it into the TV after he walked up to it. "Ye chaps look at this transmission."
Captain Morgan stood in one of Leviathan's nearly-empty cargo bays. He had gathered all the off-duty ship's personnel, as well as every pilot who wasn't off the ship. The crew were muttering amongst themselves, as nobody had any idea what was going on, though there had been rumors floating around.. Soon, though, they would find out for sure. Captain Morgan checked to make sure that everything was ready as planned, then he spoke up.
"Quiet down, lads. Today, we've got some serious business before us, and a situation o' this nature demands that we do it out in the open. Morris! Bring forth the prisoner!"
John Morris dragged out a gagged and blindfolded man. A ripple of surprise went through the assembled crew, since they all recognized the prisoner, and had thought he was in the Captain's highest favor. What could he have possibly done? Morris removed the blindfold and gag. The man looked around, but was too terrified to even attempt to escape. He looked straight at the Captain.
"Thomas Anderson... have ye anythin' to say fer yerself before we read off the charges?"
"I.... I.. don't know what I've done, Cap'n! I've always been loyal..."
"That's enough o' yer blubberin' Anderson. Don't try to play innocent with me. I know exactly what ye've been up to, and ye're goin' to get exactly what ye deserve. Mr. Shelvocke, read off the charges, so Mr. Anderson'll know what's comin' to him."
"Aye, sir. We, the officers and crew of the Leviathan, being of sound mind and judgment, hereby make the following charges against Thomas Anderson: One. That he did knowingly and willfully perform above and beyond the call of duty on countless occasions. Two. That he has been a good and solid officer on this ship for as long as he's been here. And Three. Most seriously... that he has earned the respect and admiration of the entire crew."
As Ambrose read off the charges, a look of confusion, and then comprehension appeared on Mr. Anderson's face. Captain Morgan looked thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled.
"Mr. Anderson, there can be but one punishment for your crimes. Ye are hereby promoted to the rank o' Lieutenant, along with all the rights and privilages of that rank. May God have mercy on your soul"
Posts: 6,078
Threads: 304
Joined: Aug 2007
Staff roles: Story Dev Economy Dev
King was mooching in the shadows at the back of the hall as the 'charges' were read off. He smiled and clapped with the rest as the lieutenancy was announced. He'd have to stop calling him Anderson now. They were equals in rank. The celebrations started in earnest as Morris waddled off the improvised stage and hauled a beer keg out from underneath it. Lifting it above his massive frame, he dumped it on the floor in front of the cheering crowd. Then went back for another. And another.
Charles had appeared by now, with what looked like a liberated stretcher unit in tow. The floating board had been loaded up with boxes that appeared to be full of massive tankards and bottles full of mysterious and potent content, which were promptly set along the stage's front. The crowd surged forward to seize the opportunity - free booze was a precious commodity! It appeared the Bay had been shifted into one of the cargo halls for the night.
King waded through the crowd, which was now busying itself necking as many bottles as it could. After a moment of searching he spotted Thomas being congratulated by a mob of Buccaneers. Forcing his way over he interrupted them, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. "Good evening!" He bawled over the din. "Remember, now you're a Lieutenant, you can treat Buccaneers like Prospects! Keep em on their toes and make sure they respect you! Whether you do that through fear or empathy is y'own business! Now go get smashed!" If the newest Lieutenant replied, King didn't hear because he'd already dived back into the mob.
This was going to be one hell of a night. Someone had already threatened to bring in instruments, and the sound of musicians tuning their charges was already evident. There was already the cackles of wenches and the shouts of the tipsy, as well as the general atmosphere of a party. A bit too tame for King. With a grin, he tapped a bulky looking man on the shoulder, then hit him over the head with a bottle as he turned. This needed a good bar fight!
Meanwhile, Mick had managed to get himself lost in the crowd as it surged forward for beer. He was already a little unsteady from the three or nine pints he had already while idling in the bar. By the time he had reached the stage the drinks were long gone. Disapointed and angry Mick pushed back into the mob and shoved his way though towards the door. If there was no booze here, he would have to break into his emergency suppy back in his quarters or face the daunting prospect of sobriety.
Although Micks luck suddenly turned as a Buccanner shoved a large bottle of somthing foul into his hands.
"Hold my drink while I kick this guys butt" was what Mick hoped the Pirate had said before diving into a brawl. Regardless, Mick now had a drink and a path was clearing though the cargo-bay as space was made by men falling over and other men standing over them to get a better aim on thier face. By Micks math the Buccaneers were only taking up half as much room now.
After avoiding a few fists and legs Mick stepped out of the cavernous room and into one of the service corridoors where a few survivors were being nursed back to heath by some of the female crew while other less fortunate men stood bleeding on thier own.
A small team of Medics clattered past Mick, apparently they had not been invited the to promotion party, possibly by somone who had planned ahead carefully. More probably by somone who felt health care was a crap profession taken up only by light weights and cowards. Mick managed to attract the attention of one of the better looking female medics with a shake of his booze and a suggestive nod of the head. As she snuck away from the rest of the medics Mick broke out into a broad smile.
"So, hows about we go have a private party eh?" Mick shook the bottle again "I got plenty more back at my place"
The medic looked back over her shoulder at the wounded Buccaneers and then back at Mick.
"Lets go" she said.
And with those two words Mick's day just got a whole lot better.
' Wrote:0-499 posts: Your posts will be completely and utterly ignored. 500-999 posts: People will read your posts, but will never care for the content. 1000-2000 posts: Your posts will be read, your points may be considered, if you're lucky. 2001+ posts and custom title:Your opinion matters.
Later Jack walks into the Buccaneer's Bay, shaking his head and looking at a datapad.
As he sits down, Charles asks;
"Oi Jack, whats wrong?"
"Seems like these Brotherhood Corsair fellas take our very existence as an insult. Even with our agreement with the OPG, they seem to want to kill us on sight for bringing them food and paying them for artifacts. I mean really, are they tryin' to push everyone ovah into the 'casty's camp?"
Jack shakes his head. "Gimmie some rum, I got the techs workin' on the Happy Bounty's engine. To close of a hit from a BAF chap that came outta the lane."
' Wrote:This thread is so stupid that a bird sitting on a nearby tree just EXPLODED.
'Calico' Jack stumped wearily into the bar on the Leviathan and eased his battered and bruised frame onto one of the stools. "Closest thing ye got to Surgical spirit, Charles" he said to the barman, who slid him a drink that appeared to be eating through the glass that was containing it. Jack threw it down his neck before it could escape through the surface of the bar and thumped his chest repeatedly whilst supressing a deep cough. the ride over from Trafalgar on a shuttle had not been comfortable.
His ship, now nicknamed 'Kickstart' by the levaithans' engineers due to its ongoing reluctance to start up under its own power, had had to be left at Trafalgar for repair after he'd made it back from Gamma. it had taken the emergency teams almost three hours to put out the numerous fires sprouting from various systems, which was quite impressive for such a small ship! Still, the junkers reckoned they could patch her back up.
It had all started out as an ordinary smuggling trip with Lt. Thomas Anderson. it was ordinary, until they cleared Planet Crete's docking ring and were stopped by some chap calling himself an 'Elder' or summat. anyways, he had sat there interrogating them, but going round in circles? hadn't made much sense at the time and it still didn't to Jack. all he knew was that the old guy had eventually flipped his lid and attacked without provocation! Well Jack had hit the power and circled round a few times, firing off shots at the 'Elder' and his cronies, buying enough time for Lt Anderson to land his slower, less maneuverable transport back on Crete before sticking to the code and giving it the 'Flat knacker' out of there!
Unfortunately the 'Elder's' pals were too numerous and they disabled 'Kickstart' and left Jack for dead.
Luckily the new tech chap Milton had shown Jack a few things and he was able to hotwire some basic systems and get the wreck moving again, eventually limping it back to trafalgar, Although an unfortunate encounter with a BAF officer had nearly put paid to the whole thing. some how Jack managed to muster a bit of speed out of the old girl and outran the BAF man to the debris field where he lost him before docking/crashlanding on Trafalgar.
Jack swivelled round on his stool to survey the usual throng of Buccaneers in the bar, Drinking, argueing and fighting, and chuckled to himself "Yes sir, e'en with his ship all shot up ter hell, ye gotta get up damn early to catch a Bretonian Buccaneer!"
with that he hopped off his stool and head-butted his way in on the fight!
Milton strode into the Bay with a far different attitude than the last time. Last time, he ended up earning a good bit of money, most of which was spent on beer to get his mind off the Hessians. This time... This time was different. He'd still blow a good bit of money on assorted alcohol, but this time he wasn't freaking out.
"Hey, Charles, another round for everyone, I'm buying!" he called as he entered, to the cheers of the few Buccaneers in the bar.
"Won't cost much, most of them are out at the Leviathan. Good day, I take it?" the bartender replied, standing up behind the makeshift counter where he was sorting the bottles out. From the smell, Milton guessed a few fell and broke, probably in another barfight.
"Yeah. We robbed a Shetland. A Camara, Chimera, and Armored Transport too. Took a few Rogues and freelance pirates from a Border Worlds Transport; a couple of the pirates are workin' for us now, and we've got the Rogues on the next transport to Alcatraz. A goodwill gesture, you know."
"Makes sense. Ever think about upgrading that bucket of bolts you call a pirate ship?"
"What, replace the Silver Arrow?" Milton replied, incredulous. "Hell no! I might get a second ship, though... maybe a Griffin, maybe some sort of transport."
"You don't like big guns, I take it?" Charles asked, setting an array of bottles on the counter and whistling for a waitress.
"Eh. Why blow up the loot?" the pirate said with a grin, drinking the first booze he could grab, his face instantly twisting into a grimace. "God damn that burns. I'll take another two for the road, gotta head back to make sure the new people didn't screw something up."
"Hey....hey!" Thomas shouted, running towards his Waran. "What the bloody 'ell ye chaps think yer doin'?" He shouted again sliding to a stop.
"Well, Buccaneer...if you must know we're changing your weapons out."
"Changin' me weapons? I didn't want me weapons changed!" He shouted again taking the nearest object and tossing it across the room.
A nearby Prospect ducked out of the way, letting the object crash to the ground. After a few seconds of pausing the Prospect quickly hurried over to Thomas. "Lieutenant." the lass said calmly. "My group found a few of those weapons stockpiled on Leeds, we thought you chaps up here would need them."
Thomas glanced from his ship to the girl, who was about three years younger than him. "Oh, and who gave ye the right t' screw with my ship? Sure as 'ell wasn't me."
The Prospect gulpped a bit and stood straight. "With all due respect, Lieutenant. We're following the Captain's orders. He wanted us to change out all the Bomber weapons."
Thomas hesitated and stepped back. "Well...ye...ye get right t' that then." He mumbled, "I'll be in the Bay." He slouched over slightly and started out of the hanger.
Posts: 6,078
Threads: 304
Joined: Aug 2007
Staff roles: Story Dev Economy Dev
Before he managed to leave, a booming voice rang out across the packing flight deck. "Thomas! Heads up!" Anderson span round in time to duck a hefty spanner that clanged off the bulkhead behind him and clattered to the floor. He opened his mouth to rain down righteous fury on whoever had lobbed said projectile, when he noticed the blowtorch toting King squatting on the massive roof of his baby, laughing at him.
One of the new bomber weapons was hanging by several colossal chains from a maintenance gantry that hung over the equally colossally obese ship. King had been using the blowtorch to hack off the last rivets that were holding the last of his Deliberator class weapons to the hull of his ship. With a tortured screech of protest, the gun's bulk lurched, tearing a number of the wires from the internal engineering that synced the gun to the ship's power systems. Several of the gathered engineers groaned in horror.
Applying the blowtorch to the ragged wound of a hole in the body's hull, he began to neaten the edges. The sparks reflected in his eyes, making him look like the demonic grease-monkey he was currently acting like. Anderson laughed for a moment.
"King! You'd better get down and let the engineers do their job before you cause any more damage!" The blowtorch clicked off, the tinkle of severed metal still evident, despite the din created by saws, drills and torches applying changes to the rest of the Buccaneer's flotilla. King shrugged his shoulders, before sliding down the Waran's body, onto the wing. From there he climbed down the ladder that he'd used to clamber up in the first place.
"You're probably right there, Thomas..." The pyromaniac in him crackled in his eyes for a moment before fading back into the subconscious. "Still, those new shooters... I'm gonna have some fun with them." Anderson just chuckled.
"Yeah, whatever. Let's just get to the Bay." King just shrugged and followed him out, this time without an assault of raining spanners.