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CaptainAlamo · (This post was last modified: 09-02-2017, 01:33 AM by CaptainAlamo.)

[[Docking Procedure Complete]]

A man clad in full flight gear emerged from the cockpit of his Sutinga fighter, stopped at the base of the ladder he'd clamored down, and paused for a moment on the deck of a standard docking bay. After a flick of a tube around his neck, some gas released with a pop and hiss. As if peeling an orange, he slid his helmet forward and removed it from his aching head. It had been a long flight. The man, visibly older, perhaps 50's, perhaps early 40's if Sirius hadn't been kind...slowly made his way up the ramp from the launch pad and into the corridors of Trafalgar Base.

Many thoughts ran through his mind. He was finally picking up some work it seemed. On top of his more previous arrangement, some immediate Freelancing work would go over great about now. The Junker vessel he'd linked up with seemed promising. He walked the corridors towards the bar eagerly, to meet the very captain of that ship who'd offered up some work as an escort. The captain insisted upon a face to face meeting before making proper introductions. The safest jobs usually start out like that, or the most dangerous. But, if he wanted to show his face, couldn't be too bad, right?

As he turned into the bar, the usual dim lighting and neon glows tinted the twist of low booths and tables. It was all souped with a grey haze from the various things smoked there. He took a breath and tried to figure out what exactly he was breathing.

Best not to think about it, he mused to himself with a slight smirk. He was still conscious so that's all that mattered. He looked around and the place was fairly empty. Only a couple of tables near the back had groups gathered in on them, probably card games...he'd hoped. Didn't seem like this captain had made it up from his own ship's landing yet. So he turned and gestured to the barkeep for a glass and began to unzip and unclasp more of his gear, loosening his bloodflow so he could relax. He took a seat at a nearby booth and looked up at some of the telescreens glowing over the bar. Some were usual news, others market stats, and some live station tactical updates. Being so close to Leeds, it was important to keep alert to the possibility of Gallic incursions. They never seemed to have much respect for the Junkers, or anyone they housed. For now though, all was quiet.

He hauled out his pad and thumbed out a quick message on the neural net. Just as he finished, a body finally appeared in the hatchway, and entered the bar...

Rusty Wing · (This post was last modified: 07-19-2017, 03:49 PM by Rusty Wing.)

Trafalgar base.
New London, C3 sector.
18:22
16.07.824 A.S
Temperature at the station: 18°C
Level of oxygen: Normal

A man in fully clad combat armor came out of the cargo bay of the gunboat . After examining the hangar with eyes under his helmet, he adjusted the plasma pistol hanging in the holster. Nothing has changed since he was here last time. It seems, junkers kept their promise about the fact that the purchase he bought will remain only his property. He looked at the pile of boxes standing in the distance. All in all, smuggling is fine too. He wanted to take off his helmet, however, suddenly changed his mind and slowly went to the exit.
"Home, sweet home..."
He said quietly and continues his way. Nearby he noticed wide boxes made of reinforced, high-carbon steel. They were almost nothing but words in capital letters, such as "RAGNAROK" or "ASURAS". All these boxes were equipped with a combination lock, the password from which he knew only. Approaching the door, he slid his hand over the dashboard and immediately disappeared in the corridors of Trafalgar base.

On the way to the bar, only a couple of times people met, and they, recognizing in him a "regular customer", smiled and waved. From impatience and the expectation of the upcoming meeting, the man in the armor took a quick step, going through poorly lit corridors.
"If everything goes as it should, then I will not just become rich, I will finally leave this hole and buy an island on some planet to make even more credits.
Finally, music and loud voices came to his ears. He was close.

A man in the armor...

...entered in the bar of Tafalgar. Each step was accompanied by the ringing of the zippers of the armor. The helmet completely covered his face. He looked around the room and stopped only at the man sitting at the bar counter. Apparently, it was the person, who has to be his partner in the future.
He approached the man and said:
"So, is it you, callsign "Freelancer-1"? I would prefer to choose another table to sit down. For example, there."
He pointed to the most distant table, where no one could really hear them.
"And what do you prefer to drink? Whiskey? Cardi-cola? Or may be quite exotic vodka?

Honor. Duty. Courage.

(^Click on me^)

CaptainAlamo · 07-18-2017, 07:06 AM,

"I'm a whiskey man, thank you," Alamo said with a gesture towards the other table, "By all means. Freelancer-1 is me alright. But, like I said in space, I go by the name 'Alamo'."

He then squirmed his way out of the booth for the table the other captain had referred to. They both took a seat and soon after another glass of whiskey arrived for him with his host's drink. Still clutching to their helmets, both men sat their headgear on the table in front of them as if on mutual display. Alamo had his card ready, and placed it on the table, sliding it across to the other man with one finger pressed on it. He watched for the other's reaction. There was a dull hum of voices from another table, and the telescreens up by the bar.

They both took in the surroundings for a moment, and as the Junker reviewed his rep and slid back his card, Alamo finished his first drink. He pushed it aside, leaving a trail of moisture on the table in front of him. In the same motion his hand immediately found a grasp on his second glass. He re-pocketed the card, looked at the other man and got right down to business.

"Well sir, you insisted upon a face to face meeting. So, here I am," He said while chuckling slightly, "What is it you have in mind?"

Rusty Wing · 07-19-2017, 04:24 PM,

[img float=left]http://i.imgur.com/VNczNzp.jpg?2[/img] The man in the armor approached the table and sat down. After thinking a couple of moments and glancing at the bottle with the amber liquid, the unknown took off his helmet. Under him was a man whose look said that he was tempered in battle. His hair was completely gray, and his eyes were emerald green. Finally, he spoke. The voice, not distorted by the helmet, was with steel notes inside:
"My name is Gerhard Walter and I'm... Independent operative. I'm working on myself here, in Trafalgar. So, mister Alamo, what do you think about the Kingdom of Gallia? May be you were there once? Or have a wish to visit it?"
The man poured the whiskey into a glass and then drank it in a gulp. Not one muscle did not flinch on his face with a big scar, but his posture became a little more relaxed. He checked Alamo's ID card and returned it without any questions.

Honor. Duty. Courage.

(^Click on me^)

Rusty Wing · 07-24-2017, 01:48 PM,

While Alamo was thinking over the answer, Gerhard filled the second glass with whiskey. Sighing, he drained the second glass in one gulp. His gaze was directed directly at the man's eyes. He waited for any reaction.

Honor. Duty. Courage.

(^Click on me^)

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