Savage stroll's in, his face beaming, a smile that would end all smiles...
He looked down at the floor, "See you got rid of that mess from earlier on, hey bartend?"...
"How come your so blooming happy, hey?", the barkeep asked.
"Seen the news just now?",... Savage nodded towards the monitor set that was atop the bar, it was currently turned off. "Suggest you turn that cheap box of yours on, and watch," Savage stated.
The Barkeep turned it on. Few rogues, outcasts and some lane hackers drew closer as an emergency broadcast was sent through.
"Today in the skies above Manhattan, a most tragic and terrible event has occurred. The Bretonian Embassy ship, the HMS-Britannia, has been attacked by a force of suspected Lane Hackers and Outcasts. The attack comes only hours after the Bretonian Ambassador, Lord William Henri Braterford, hosted a major diplomatic summit onboard the Britannia. The summit had been preceded by a sumptuous dinner party at which many senior Liberty and Bretonian officials attended, and which had been warmly received by the Liberty community. At the dinner party Lord Braterford gave a speech to the people of New York, in which he praised the close relations between the two nations and expressed hopes of closer cooperation on many key issues, which received heartfelt applause from all present. Only hours later, however, the luxurious Bretonian Royal Liner Britannia lay in smoking ruins on the surface of Planet Manhattan, after crash landing following a sudden and unprovoked attack from Liberty terrorists."
The barkeep turned to Savage... "Nooo, you... Nooo", he was dismayed. There was a cheer and a loud banter began as the news settled in.
Then, the box reported this... "A Photograph of the attack taken from a Manhattan satellite", displaying an image, showing Savage's involvement and along with a few other pal's, one of them Savage's business associate, Zenith Bane.
"Savage you sly dog, you where directly involved, why didn't you tell us this was going down?", asked one of the rogues.
"Didn't have enough time, but we got the job done. We may not have gotten the target, but we did untold damage, and me and the boys are happy", Savage replied.
"So, who was the brains of the op, who thought off it"... asked one in the rather large and growing crowd.
"Me and Zenith, soon as that old fool reported his presence in Liberty, we got a gang together and struck", Savage said.
"Alright lads, drinks are on the house, this calls for a celebration!"...
As the crowd cheers and enjoys it's free round of drinks from the now famous Savage, a short man walks in wearing a Houston hat and greenish camouflage clothes. The smell of Cardamine surrounds the newcomer as he walks up to the bar.
"Howdy there bartender. Can you rustle me up a bottle of whiskey. None of that weak liberty beer ya hear."
The short man pays for his drink, sits at a bar stool, and quietly stars at a hologram in his hand of a bizarre looking junker ship. A few minutes ticks away as the junker sips at his whiskey. Final after his fifth glass he mumbles
"Darn you varmit! I'll get you some day Quin."
*Thud* The junker falls to the floor.. out cold..
A dog tag hangs out from his ugly shirt: Bobby Lonewolf Harris.
A trader enters the bar. On his regular routine. The name on his chest states that he is called "verminator"
What an odd name for a trader people say. This is no ordinary trader though. He is know to shoot down his enemies on the spot!
"yo bartend!"
"yes sir?"
"gimme some whiskey!"
"right away"
the man looks on the ground beside him and sees his tag "Bobby Lonewolf Harris."
After a whole day of training and equipment checks Julian decided to go for a drink in the nearest pub. Since LR are his old acquaintance from his past, the bar in Buffalo is more than suitable for Julian.
- Hello, bartender. I hope you will spare me the information for today this time. I just want my drink. A glass of Californian Blue Label whisky.
- Yes, of course Hacker.
I passed him my credit card and the bartender completed the transaction.
I took a look around to see the faces, but didn't see anyone familiar. I sat on the empty table in the upper-right corner of the bar and begin drinking, taking the portable PC out of my pocket and beginning writing some documentary for my leaders, for further advancement.
- Ah, this whisky has such a delicate taste, i will never get bored by it. Oh well, now to go back to business....
Finn walks in looks around then heads to the bar. "Bartender, gimme an ale... please." Taking his drink Finn turns to observe to goings on in the room.
"After a long day of long shifts i can finally take a rest. I haven't been in a bar lately. There's so much work i can't lift my foot to reach the tavern door. And even longer hadn't i have had a cool, breezy, Californian beer." - thought Ugo while entering the tavern's door with slow, steady and quite steps.
He looked around to see a familiar face... There was one Zoner in the corner typing something vigorously in his personal comm, probably his daily rendering account. There, sitting the not unknown Andrew Mort, the liberty rogue on a table with a person whose face i don't find familiar. There was also an Outcast member - A. Vasquez from the SoB alliance.
Ugo set straight for the bar, he wasn't in the mood for talking much. He just wanted to rest. He approached the bartender...
- Good day, bartender!
- Good day to you too, sir! - said anxiously the obviously young fellow who was new in the tavern.
- Could you give me a bottle of California Berger(the best beer in whole Liberty)?
- Of course, sir. Right away. - the bartender crouched behind the bar and reached for the liquor cabinet. He picked a nice, cold beer and opened it with a swing of his dexterous hands.
- Here you go, sir!
Ugo passed him his credit card to pay the bill and started enjoying his cold beer swallowing slow, and tasting every drop.
When he looked around he saw the look of Andrew Mort catching his own. "What was he up to..." - thought Ugo...
The sound of a deep clunk was heard as a young looking man in a battle uniform dropped what seemed like a suitcase full of metal components on the ground, his battle clothes stained with cheap oil and what seemed to be like ale as well, the man looked around with a tired look and muttered to himself.
"Darn those lads..if ya can't mount a darn turret like its supposed ta be, why do ya even try..if ya can't make it turn forward, ya dun' mount it at all..waste of energy."
A quick push of strong, metal plated leather boots against the suitcase slipped it under an empty desk with one chair, near the exit to the engendering bay.
It was Andrew's favourite seat on this base and he was all too happy to enjoy a good drink after a hard days work. Nodding to the bartender, as he knew what he would request, he slumped back into the chair heavily and let out a sigh of relief.
"What a day....and yet...so much to do..."
He murmured to himself and smiled at the young lady, who brought him his drink, a dusty bottle and a small glass, oddly enough, so shiny and clear in comparison to the bottle it almost shadowed it with its own luster. Odd way to see that, as the lighting in the particular part of the bar was not the best.
Andrew sighed deeply and uncorked the bottle and got out a rag, placing it to he tip of the bottle he topped it over and let it soak just a bit, before starting to remove the oil stains from his arms, holding a few scars a mechanic would have.
Soon enough the oder of very strong alcohol filled the room as he did this and if someone would watch, he could even get out a few specks of fuel from his outfit.
Throwing the rag onto the suitcase underneeth, he reached out for the bottle again and poured some of the clear liquid into the small glass and set the bottle aside, after putting the lid back on.
The man would stare at the glass for what seemed a few minutes before he leaned back into his chair and got out a peper from one of the inner pockets of his vest. Upon reading it, his hand had slowly began to reach for the drink, but after his eyes were set on it, it changed its course a little, after a pen, near an ashtray.
A few scribbles here and there and he was standing up once more. The man reached down to take the bottle, uncork it and palce the glass to the tip, pouring the liquid back and placing it back on the desk. He took his suitcase, the sound of metal heard just fine as he left through the doors.
The lady picked the bottle up and chuckled to herself, moving over to the bartender once, more, swaying her hips to the joy of the others. The gruff man only looked at the door, then at the dusty bottle.
"You know...that Mort fellow...he never does finish his drink..."
The lady only placed it back under the barstend and smirked
"He never has started one to finish..."
The bartender only shook his head and murmured, going back to tend to the other costumers
An ageing man walks into the bar, his hair grey at the temples, lines cross his forehead, he looks about 50, but any that know him now him to be not yet 45. Stout and well built, he walks up to the bar, mid hushed whispers from any wearing a Rogue uniform.
"One shot of Molly whiskey, and make it the good stuff."
The bartender looks at the man, and turns to go behind the bar itself. The barmaid simply smiles and goes about the task of serving other customers. Returning the bartender puts a bottle on the bar. Carefully he opens it and the smell of good whiskey permeates the surrounding area. Placing a shot glass on the bar, he pours the drink, a healthy measure.
"How much I owe you?"
"Nothing Boss, it's on the house."
"Nothing? That's no way for a Rogue to make a living. You charge em, and you charge em well. Nobody gets away without paying. Am I right Rogues?" His voice raises to a crescendo at this moment.
There is a cheer from the bar as he says this, and the man turns back to the bartender.
"So barkeep, how much do I owe you?"
"Ten credits."
"That's better, but I ain't paying more than 5 for this swill." He grins at the barkeep.
"Well okay, but the cost is still 10 credits, even if I have to beat the other 5 from your unconscious body." At this the barman reaches below the bar and pulls out the traditional beating stick. Usually it's used for beating folks who stray across the bar during one of Buffalo's Saturday Night Brawl Extravaganza's. But it had been used to extract payment on more than one occasion.
"Well now, that's a mighty convincing argument." He throws a 10 credit chit at the barkeep, "Keep the change."
With that he knocks back the shot and turns to the assembled patrons. "Right Rogues, we've got a cardi shipment in bound, get flying I want it escorted in, there's a lot of product and I ain't having it intercepted this time. MOVE IT!"
The bar empties of a fair few Rogue pilots as everyone struggles to meet the Crime Boss's orders. Sylpheed turns to the bartender. "Catch you around"
As Sylpheed leaves, the barman turns to the girl. "How come he never comes in just to have a drink?"
Saint Del is considered a holy healer of diseases of children, but also as a protector of cattle.
"WHOA WHOA WHOA!......Whats all this commotion going on here?"
"and did i hear that the big boss himself was here?"
Everyone turns around to see the trader talk
"well? why no yappin?....is he here or not?"
One of the Rogues turns around and faces his drink."He was, but now i think he left.....or hes just hidin himself here."
"Ahhhh he probly aint so tuff" stated the trader
"well im gonna get somehting to drink then hed off on my next run"
"bartend!! gimme some liberty ale!"
"right away" the bsrtend seemed a bit weirded out from everything going on here all of the sudden
"ahh! ale!"
the trader starts to drink the yummy ale and relax
OORP-somthings wrong with me keyboard! cant do dots slashes or commas! oh no!
Steve 'Rawshank' Lucano walks into the bar, still wearing his fedora hat, as usual.
"One beaumont blaster, you know how I like them" He lights a cigarette, casualy setting fire to the overly long hair of the man standing next to him. The rogue quickly put himself out but didn't look Rawshank in the eye...
His drink arrived and he sat in the barstool now seemingly reserved for him.
Hmmm, another fight night he thought chuckling slightly to himself, ending in a smoky wheeze. Well, I don't wanna go upstanging old Slypheed do I now...
Slypheed eyed him carefully from the corner of the bar. The educated eye of one killer examining another...
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![[Image: Del1.png]](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a344/Spiderjerusalem1979/Del1.png)
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