The Alcatraz depot lounge and pub

[schlurbi]

The guy looks at that younger lad standing in the middle of the room, pulling away the chair on his right he offers him to take a seat. The younger lad looks over, his view passes a corpse lying on a table in the middle of the room.

The guy awaits the younger lad's next step.

---

"Who is it doing this synthetic type of alpha beta psychedelic funkin'?"

[Silver.2]

A man sat lonely at a table, far from the eyes of anyone else. While his crew had always been there, his only company that night was a large feline beast, gently purring at his side. His angry thoughts were dulled with the din of the bar, and the ever present touch of whiskey. A scowl came across his face as he looked at his arm console. The others were still unconscious.

The man sighed.

"I've...I've had enough..."

A voice came out of his subcoinscious. It was gentle, vibrant, full of life.

"~Drake, it's not your fault what happened...~"

"Nia...what that Ou'cast did to 'em...that cant be forgiven. I dun' care 'bout tha' rest..."

He took another swig of the stiff drink. It's warmth did little to melt away the malice in his heart

"...they've lost my good will. One ah' 'der kind, one ah' 'der FILTH, decided that we were worth sacrificin' 'en order ta' save 'is own arse. Tha's not respect from HIM..."

"~Drake, you have to consider your own well being. There's no escaping the Outcasts~"

He laughed. Like he cared about that anymore.

"That doesn't matter. Whatever happens..."

He didnt have to finish. He was hell-bent on revenge, one way or another.

[schlurbi]

The guy gave up, it seems like the other one doesnt want to sit on his table. He continues watching out of the window, thinking about the whore he had last night and what would happen to the underaged one at McMurray. Danny shrugs, then he gets out a little notepad and closes his eyes.

---

"Who is it doing this synthetic type of alpha beta psychedelic funkin'?"

[Petitioner]

A young man in a research coat walked in, with a beautiful young girl on his arm in a Corsair uniform. They went up to the bar. "Two of whatever's cheapest," said the man. "O' course, sir," said the bartender, sliding two glasses filled with disgusting brown stuff across the bar. The man smiled at the woman, passed her a drink. They raised their glasses. "Cheers," they said together, and guzzled them down, both with a horrified expression on their face. The girl turned to the bartender and said "What the hell was that, man?" "Dunno, but it's been under the counter, uncorked, for a couple-ah years an' I thought I'd see if it was drinkable. No charge for that one, eh?"

The man got up and went off to socialize with a few people, while the girl continued to look repulsed and scratched at her tongue. "Well, this certainly has been a trip, she said.

---

[schlurbi]

Again Danny sits on his usual Seat in front of the Corner, with a weird view he looks over to the Woman scratching her Tongue after drinkin' some weird stuff looking like Danny's last diarrhea. His Eyes slowly moving down the Woman's Body, ending at her little Butt hidden under an Overall.

---

"Who is it doing this synthetic type of alpha beta psychedelic funkin'?"

[Petitioner]

The woman slowly notices the man staring at her and gives him a seductive wink before going over to the man in the labcoat and hanging onto his arm. As the man in the labcoat finished talking to the man who appears to be in a hodge-podge sort of outfit, resembling that of a Zoner's but with an IMG coat, the man in the labcoat would hand the other man a small object appearing to be a credit card, but smaller, kisses the Corsair woman, and walks out with her. As they walk out, the Corsair woman looks back and sticks out her tongue at you playfully.

---

[schlurbi]

With a joyful View in his Eyes Danny empties his Drink and stands up. He slowly follows the pair. As Danny reaches the Exit of the Bar he hears the Woman's Giggle from the next Floor. The Elevator's Doors are opening and closing, the Giggle is gone.

He returns to his Seat and orders another Bottle of Wine.

---

"Who is it doing this synthetic type of alpha beta psychedelic funkin'?"

[thelordjehovah]

"Bay doors locked and sealed. Pressurizing docking airlock," spoke the flight control associate attending his landing, "Looks like you won the bet, eh?"

As the shock of rapid re-pressurization rattled the bulky hull of his Barghest, Mick unbuckled his flight helmet, and hurled it over his shoulder to ricochet off the bulkhead, and tumble haphazardly around the cockpit, "Just get this slag heap onto the deck, Dick. I ain't in no damn mood."

"Stifle that prick, an' get us on the deck," he snarled at his RIO.

What the hell was I thinking? Me? What the hell was the skipper of the Killing Time thinking, engaging a Rheinland cruiser and battleship, along side the Navy? How do I rationalize this? Should have finished what the Rheinlander started with that damned AEGIS cruiser, after I terminated them. At least the LNS-Tampa got nailed. That's a good thing, isn't it? I hate the corporate government, the mercenary police, and the navy most of all, and yet.. Yet, I feel regret. I want to be done with this. I need an out.

Mick Ringo grabbed a hand hold above his bucket seat, and hauled himself up, "See to it we're refueled, repaired, and get on the comm to Buffalo. See to it we have a new Sammael flown in from the destroyer's stock in New York. When you're done, meet me in the lounge, and we'll settle our accounts."

As he cleared his seat, the Reaper's contracted RIO hauled himself from his own, and gave Mick a shove to halt him, "Hey, look, you prick. You ain' goin' nowhere 'till we-" Mick cut the man off, grabbing the man's wrist, twisting it as he snaked his arm up, splayed his fingers around the back of the man's head for a sure grip, and slammed his head against the radar console.

"Your contract is canceled," Mick stated flatly, thrusting a knee into the man's side as he released his wrist, drew his disruptor, and placed it to the copilot's temple, in one fluid movement.

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I'm getting sick of this. We're all a bunch of brain-blown cardamine addicts and alcoholics. What the hell am I doing here? There's a lot of fine talk amongst the rogues, but I can find no truth in any I've met thus far, other than greed. Are there any men of principle among our lot? Or are they all merely men of excuses? I'm sick, most of all, for all my questions. It's time to get out.

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Mick Ringo stopped a few meters from the door to the lounge, and put his back to the wall. He took the deep breath as he folded his arms across his chest, studying the huddled couples, and various other groups loitering outside, intoxicated on local and imported spirits, cardamine, and synth.

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Used to be, long before the Nomad war, we had a dream. Faded now, that dream is lost; forgotten. Abandoned. In favor of what? Empty fields, of plentiful golden grains of dementia and death, that we mistakenly call the golden dream. With the advent of the nomads, despite what we know now to be the merely temporary victory of the Order, and now the renewed state of war with Rheinland, the despair is almost tangible. The nomads remain, Rheinland invades, and where are we in this? Who's really behind it? Behind the Kusari war against Bretonia? This is insane, and I have to get out.

Mick drew forth a small, metal cartridge from his pocket, and inserted it into his prized, gold-trimmed inhaler, "What are we doing to ourselves? Who are the outcasts," he questioned himself in almost inaudible whisper, "and what's the purpose of this death we breathe?"

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Once again, oblivious to his own moral concerns, for either himself or his comrades, he strolled numb, almost blind, into the lounge, and situated himself at a far corner of the bar. He signaled the bartender for his customary whiskey neat, and surveyed the attendant refuse for his next-and likely last-night of warmth and solace.

---

"He who must expend his life to prolong life cannot enjoy it, and he who is still seeking for his life does not have it, and can as little enjoy it."
-Max Stirner

[schlurbi]

Danny silently checks out that new Lad who arrived in the Bar and sat down in the Corner a few Tables far away from himself. As he whistles towards the Man he raises his Glass of Water, then spills it down. Water dropping out his Mouth, running down his Throat. Danny stands up, leaving the emtpy Glass behind on the Table. He walks towards the Table in the Corner.

"I saw that Boy *coughs* Nice Kick ya got. I hea'd what ya di 'swell. The Tampa eh? Silly Capt'n it was, no'mally they're silly like that. 'nyway, do ya know Sylpheed? *coughs* I bet ya woulda be int'rested in him. I see good Lads when I meet 'em, 'n ya're good 'nough to meet Sylpheed. What're thinkin' 'bout that Offah?"

---

"Who is it doing this synthetic type of alpha beta psychedelic funkin'?"

[Daerune]

A young male moving into the bar taking only the slightest look around as his shoulder bore the mark of the Phantom empire but he wouldn't be wearing their normal 'uniform' instead he would have a back thin hoodie that was loose along with comfortable fitting black pants, he was certainly young and didn't seem friendly as he narrowed his eyes one anyone who met his being hazel with almost a little 'fire' behind them. He ordered a very cold drink being only a low percentage in alcohol, moving over to a 'free' table and sitting down loosening some holds on his fore arms as the skin that wasn't clothed was surrounded in a black fabric only his hands and heads would not be covered in the material which had a faint royal blue to it barely noticeable. He removed a number of objects and placed them on table and starts to rub where they once had been, the most noticeable that was on the table was a black dagger which was sitting next to his drink.

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