Erasmas takes a sip from his glass, then raises his gaze above the shy brunette, looking at Kadar. "Oh hey mate! Yes, yes, dreadful situation. How did I come out if it, eh? Well... in an escape pod." he shrugs; "Fortunately, I had nothing of high value onboard... well, except for my humble self. My ship is not a combat vessel, and I'm definitely not a fighter pilot. I managed to land some missile strikes, although I'm not even sure how I should evaluate the damage I dealt: they don't explode, they don't leave debris, they don't even bleed... they just, uh, ripple and change color and drip some jelly. Bah!" Erasmas makes a disgusted face. "But enough of this, we're all safe and sound and we have gracious company, let's not go over that anymore." finishes with a smile at Florence.
The bartender looks at Skarsi, grabs a glass, and starts pouring vodka into it. "Drinks are free for the TAZ, pope. Tell me when to stop."
Florence looks at Kadar and sighs. "We're in the hole for about nine hundred million credits for repairs to the Metropolis, and the number's growing daily." She looks at Erasmas. "And unfortunately neither the Junkers nor DSE take charm as a form of payment."
K: Aye Erasmas, those bastards got my hull down low before I dropped a hologram and ran - bloody business, at least we aren't dead *he turns back to Clemens, now on his fifth glass of Maltan rum.*. Yeah, the Metropolis - beautiful ship the Spyglass is; If only most of our capital fleet wasn't destroyed at FP1 we wouldn't be down a billion and a few capitals. Perhaps once we get Kansas locked down I'll donate a bit towards a new cruiser - that would be brilliant. *He eyes a puzzled guard holding a pile of confiscated weapons as what appears to be a TAZ walks into the bar* Oh dear god TAZ has found our base. Uh, where were we?
"Hmm...." Skarsi muses as he watches the raider change the sign. "I think that's number 73 on the 'reactions to a pope walking into a bar' list. Though i will say, the wording is original."
*He wanders over to Florence, Erasmas and Kadar*
"Kallisti. A nice establishment you all have got here." Skarsi considers giving them a try of his own brew, which he calls mjod. "Hmm.... dont know if they'd be able to stomach it, but it would be amusing in the least." he thinks.
"Care to try my personal brew?" He asks.
He gets 4 glasses from the bartender and fills them with an equal measure. The one thing Skarsi 'forgot' to mention was that Mjod is very..... potent, which leads to rapid intoxication. "Now for some amusing discord" he thinks.
Erasmas laughs at Florence's remark. "Oh, DSE are definitely no fun. As for the Junkers, I don't know, I even worked for them for a few months, but..." he stops in mid-sentence as he notices Skarsi's unsubtle entrance. "Are we suddenly at war or something? That's a walking arsenal if I ever saw one" he mutters, then smiles at the newcomer as he approaches. "Greetings and welcome, friend!" he says as he stands up from the stool, "Allow me to make introductions; I am Erasmas de Shahrizai, the tall fellow there is Kadar al-Nizari - did I spell it ok? - and this enchanting lady is our chief engineer, Florence Clemens. And I see you brought beverages - fantastic! I hope the bartender won't take offense."
Karim makes his way through the crowd, his face remaining indifferent, disengaged from the other people making their way through the base. By the time he reaches the door he already has his oversized combat knife at the ready, handle out, and hands it off to the security guard as he continues to the bar. His gaunt expression matches his frame, his composure and pace making it as though he were a phantom passing by. His face hits the soft light emanating from behind the bar, and it becomes clear this is not the arrogant man who applied to become a bandit. A strong five o'clock shadow has seized his face, his eyes have become cooler, less attentive, with a distant look looming over his face. He takes a seat a few stools over from the more rambunctious patrons, and retaining his ghastly expression, he shifts his cold stare to the bartender. His cracked lips begin to move, and his voice echoes it's movements.
"Whiskey, neat." Karim frees the bartender from his imprisoning gaze as he leaves to fetch the bottle, and slowly shifts his eyes down, his long, unkept brown hair flowing freely, shielding the sides of his face. It jerks softly as he raises his head to see his drink arriving, his eyes suddenly focused on the bartender. The man sets the shot on the counter, and Karim uses his free hand to carefully grab it, keeping his head set on the fist of the other, elbow propped on the hard surface, dissuading looks from the others in the bar. He downs the whiskey in one go, wipes his lips with his scarred thumb and taps his flipped shot, indicating he wants a second glass. His head shifts to get a view of security in his peripherals, watching them deposit his knife for safe keeping, and moves back to watch the counter, eyes inspecting it's contents. He watches the scarred fingers ball up under his fingerless glove, feeling the cold point of a concealed push dagger kept in his sleeve for emergencies. He caresses the sharp edge, allowing a small incision in his index finger. The small trickle of blood feels cold, and a familiar sensation tingles through his hand. Karim's focus is broken by the new shot glass, and quietly dabbing his index finger into his palm he downs the whiskey as he did earlier, wiping his lips with his thumb, and tapping the glass.
A woman, mid twenties, stumbles into the bar looking worse for wear. Her hair is all messed up, with what looks like half a finished dye job, her uniform is still slightly smoking and half burned up, and ash, or grease, is smeared across half her face. Everyone briefly looks up to see her enter the bar.
"Smugglin' run. Got chased. Almost died. Nothing to see here." she glowers. She shuffles over to a dark corner of the bar where a man sits in silence. She sits down across from him and looks up. "I got what you wanted, Commander."
The man looks up briefly at the woman who sat down at his booth. "Problems?" he said with a slight smile.
"More than you'd care to know about. You know how it goes."
"Mmm. I do. What was the amount we settled on, my dear? 40 million credits for your discretion and for your theft of the item in particular?"
"Well, sir, since I had issues with the law--"
"Forty-Million Credits." said the man, even darker than before. "You should know better, Kasumi than to piss me off."
"Of course sir, 40 million it is."
"Good." he said sliding her a chip. "I have another job for you to do, this one will pay more than the others."
She raised her eyebrows. "More than 40 million credits, uncle?"
He smiled.
"This one will put you into retirement if you play your hand right...and I told you not to call me uncle. You know how old that makes me feel."
A man walked over and sat down on the third spot of the booth.
"Keller, our meeting is about to begin."
Keller nodded and looked back to the young woman at the bar.
"Miss Masuyo, I'm getting old. Even though I don't look like it, I'm nearing my 40's. Next time we meet, I need you to not come into the bar half naked and damn near dead next time. You're liable to give me a heart attack." he said with a smile that quickly faded. "You will find your next mission on your ships computer. I will be in contact."
With that, the Commander turned back to the man who had set down. The young woman got up, dusted herself off and left the bar towards the ship bay.
"Who was that, boss?"
"No one, Petrov. Someone who is getting things for me...now what's this meeting you've been talking about?"
Why are you reading this? Don't you have something else you'd rather be doing? Why are you still reading this? Go out and explore, trade, fight, pirate, or even die thanks to SLRC autopilot. You're still here? What do you want, a poem? Fine. Roses are red, violets are blue, I lose the game, and so did you.
Florence looks up at the pope. "Uh, no thanks, sir. I prefer not to take drinks I didn't order from people I can't fire."
Petrov nods and waves a man over to the booth. The man is instantly recognized by the Raiders in the pub, some of whom raise glasses, while others salute or wave. "Harold," he says pleasantly. "Good to see you again. Please, have a seat."
"Likewise, Vadim. Last time I saw you, you were still pretending to be Navy," the man says, sitting down. He turns to the third man at the booth. "You must be Commander Keller. Taskmaster Harold Kane, Vagrant Raiders. Minister of Relations for Natio Octavarium. Vadim contacted me shortly before his... explosive departure from the Liberty Navy. While I definitely cannot openly condone the act, between the three of us, that was well done."
A waitress brings over a single tall menu and a glass of water, the latter of which she sets down in front of Kane.
"Order anything you two want, on the house," Kane says, smiling. "You two are some of our most esteemed guests on the station. Now, my apologies, but what is the name of the group you represent again?"
"Thank you for the offer of drinks, but I'm afraid that alcohol adversely effects my implants to where I can't use them. I will have a water however, thank you. Previously we were known as the Children of Conviction. However, it seems as if those days have long since passed. Sirius has changed since the days of my youth. In those days being a mercenary meant something. These days, not so much.
Keller looked around the bar.
"I've seen s**t that would make most men vomit their entire intestines out. Done things that no man should ever do. Yet, here I am. I did it all for the glory of the Liberty Navy in their secret programs of murder and experimentation. Yet, here I am.
"I don't mean to bore you Mr. Kane, but I will say this: We do still take contracts from patrons. Vadim here said that you all may be looking for one such contract from us. We do smuggling, assassinations, protection, among other things that are of the less than legal type. Although, I was briefed that you are in talks with Liberty and Bretonia for peace. So before I offer my services to you in any form of contract, I must let you know: Our goal is to topple the evil and sinister houses and put, in their place, a much more transparent government that doesn't do the types of things that led to my creation in the first place.
"We are no where near the capacity we once were. I was locked up in Bretonia for a long time, and the Conviction crew seems to have gone their own ways. I have about 10% of my old fighting force collected again, but that is no where near enough to do the things we did once before."
Why are you reading this? Don't you have something else you'd rather be doing? Why are you still reading this? Go out and explore, trade, fight, pirate, or even die thanks to SLRC autopilot. You're still here? What do you want, a poem? Fine. Roses are red, violets are blue, I lose the game, and so did you.
Kane nods and lowers his voice. "We are interested in a few different... groups... that we need thinned. One such group is the Rheinland Military. They are intercepting our trade shipments in the Omegas. A lesson needs to be taught to them."
The waitress from before sets a plate of garlic fries on the table for the group. "While we cannot at this time afford to pay you in Sirius Credits for your services, we can arrange other methods of compensation. Our research and development groups are working on a new high-efficiency photon cannon. You may be interested in procuring some when they have been fully developed and tested them. We would be interested in making that happen. Unfortunately at present our treasury is tapped out with some very important construction projects and the development of this house in general."
Kane picks up and bites into a fry.
"I'm not sure what you mean by evil and sinister houses, but keep in mind that if that includes the one I've worked so hard to solidify, then any contracts you sign with us will be null and void."
![[Image: 9KgNaeX.png]](http://i.imgur.com/9KgNaeX.png)
