Shizuma sighs and looks at her fresh glass of beer. "Don't grow soft on me, you "ladyboy". I don't want to have the feeling i'm babysitting you all the time." She takes her glass and drinks it till it's empty.
Vixen toyed with her hands for a little, then got up and walked to the door...she stopped. There was something she was missing. She smiled, loving the one thing the headband was good for, among the bad. She rolled back through the entire conversation, absorbing everything, then she opened her eyes. She smiled slightly, looking back to what she had heard...and she could hear a hell of a lot.
"I see it as a way for you to try and get in favour with Vixen..."
She blinked slightly, then walked back into the bar, taking a seat closer to Bret's crew...maybe she could glean something else that would help her understand the lot of them a little better...
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
"This be Katarn Dragonbourne o' the Prison Liner ITS-Orocin reportin te Traffic Control fer permission rights te dock on Battleship Hood, over."
A woman of Bretonian accent comes up on the Comms of the ship's lonely, relatively-empty bridge, "This is Traffic Control of the Battleship Hood. We read you, Captain Dragonbourne and are searching for any available mooring ports available for a connection towards your ship..." Eventually a green light brightens up on the Navigations Console deck, and a response comes back from the Comms Console Deck, "... Traffic Control here... We have prepared Mooring Port 2 for your ship, and are standing by for landing procedures to commence, over."
"That be read, Hood Traffic Control... Thank ye fer yer time... This be Katarn Dragonbourne o' the Prison Liner ITS-Orocin signin off, over an' out."
... 14 minutes later...
The hood bar seems to be in a buzz as to the latest development from the War going on in the Tau systems: Mollys, IMG and other freelancer pilots just passing by hear the tails and have been trying to make rumors as to how the war between the Kusarians and the Gallians would turn out.
But the tense atmosphere was only aggrevated when a man somewhere in his 70's entered the room full of patrons: he had snow-white hair and full-beard; scars of gorey origin marking almost all parts of his face; a devilish grin brimmed on his mouth; and his eyes contradicted the old age of the veteran, what with their fierce, youthful and wild glow shining about them.
The old man wore such ragged clothes it would make one wonder if he came from the 80-year-war wearing the same clothes all throughout his life: his brown, ankle-deep trench-coat was covered in lots of marks, gunshot holes and rips and tears on its edges, cuffs and seams; the vest underneath this coat was heavily patched over the years, in testament to the amount of action it's seen and survived; his desert-camo cargo pants of severe damage and heavy stitching was a seeming compliment to his trench-coat; and his combat boots were so marked with wear it was a wonder its parts still stuck together.
As the man approached the bar aisle the patrons close to him hushed silently and started talking behind the old veteran's back. The man didn't mind the attention he was garnering: he couldn't care less...
All he's there for right now is both some information, and Black Grog... The veteran called for the waiter, Ryan Bourne, to serve him. As he was giving his order he said, "... Can ye be helpin an' ol' man in his time o' need, HAHAHA!!!"
"Huh... Molly..." The bartender chuckled mockingly to himself before responding, "... Whatcha need, old man?"
"Aw... That be hurtin, young lad... Is that be how ye be treatin yer elders? HAHAHA!!!
"Anyway, on te business... I be lookin fer someone... A corsair friend o' mine---" Almost immediately the Molly patrons became a bit more upset at just the words 'corsair' and 'friend' being said together, "Aw, do SHUT UP!
"... As I be sayin... She be a Corsair... Probably same age as I am, that bein 70 or more, I be not so sure... She be travelin all across Sirius, searchin fer... somethin... That I be not sure as well...
"I be askin if ye heard o' her, by any chance... She be a stubborn, fiery lassy, lots o' backbone an' spirit in her, just as how I like me women, HAHAHA!!! Her name be... Clare Campeche."
Ryan only raised an eyebrow to the old man at his inquiry, "... A Corsair woman...? Nope... Sorry... Don't know anyone by the name of Clare, or of her family the Campeche's...
"You could try over back at the Omicrons or the Omegas, but other than that they don't usually come here unless they try to steal the Molly Gold..." He goes away for the moment to try to see whether or not his Black Grog stocks were still available.
The old veteran, with rumor once again foiling him in his attempts to find his friend, looked around the bar to see for any potential contacts that may have heard of even the slightest hint of her...
In the room, there seemed to be 3 people of notable prestige: Dexter Holvis, the racer; a Molly squad leader that had a large group of grunts guarding him as he drank his beer; and a Junker (which was a rare sight in these parts).
... Hmmm... That racer be a famous person here... He be the one who be rumored te be the one racin against Edison Trent in the Nomad Wars o' 800... Most likely he be knowledgeable of any happenins about, cause everyone be tellin him everythin, see... He looked at the IMG man enjoying himself near the viewing window, his white-hair a testament to his age...
... However... That there Molly Merc be a strong laddy, hahahah... looks te be lots o' fun te get along with, HAHAHAHAH... And they be on a constant watch on the Corsairs... He be bound te know bout a thing o' two bout them, see... He saw he was heavily armed to the teeth: with a full plasteel-backed armor, a rifle placed meticulously in front of his drink, and 6 equally-armed guards by his side, he wasn't someone to be easily trifled with.
... Lastly... A Junker lassy... She be the only one o' her kind right now... Why she be here, I be wonderin...? She be probably knowin bout the Corsairs better than all o' these lots, so she be possibly be bound with the answers I be seekin, hahahah... Katarn looked at the Junker, her hair partly scalded from a past burn in her life, and a long tattoo running across her left cheek. She also had two pistols on her sides, both small and light, yet the old veteran knew these were M45 pistols, which were of great make and design...
Katarn starts to stand up and walks over to Dexter Holvis: but before he could even start getting close to him, the man is interrupted by another racer, and soon they get too busy to talk with.
... Aye then... That contact be crossed out...
He looked at the Molly Merc, who now called his mates and left the bar drunk.
... Hmmm... That be quick... So that be meanin...
Finally, he eyed the Junkess on the far side of the table, still alone and minding her own business.
The old veteran came back to his table as the bartender came back with a full tray of Black Grog. Katarn took two mugs from the tray and proceeded to the Junkess' table.
When he got there the woman was in deep thought about things... He sat on the opposite side of the table and offered a mug of Black Grog to the girl with a grin.
The woman, upon smelling the extremely-strong liquor in her nose, riled up her head and awoke from her deep thinking. She at first had a scowl on her face because of the sudden interruption, but when he saw the old man's grin her hate subsided a bit, "Huh... I ain't drinkin that evil stuff... If you wanna be a gentleman, give me a glass of 796."
Katarn laughed loudly to himself and called a nearby waiter to get some wine on the table... Shortly the Gallic Leopold Vintage of 796 landed on the table with a soft thud. The old veteran poured a glass of the rich juice over to the Junkess' hand containing the cup, of which she sipped a bit and after tasting it replied, "... Ah... Now THAT was a great year..."
Katarn admired the luxurious taste of the Junkess, smiling excitedly and said, "Heheheh... Ye be havin a fine taste fer great wine, lassy... 796 be a great year when the Leopold be havin their annual festival... They be winnin that festival with these bottles o' beauty, see..."
"... And which makes them all the more satisfying..." Her eyes sparkled with delight as they looked at the veteran, "You know your wine lore very well, old man... Who are you anyway?"
"Ma name be Katarn... Katarn Dragonbourne, at yer service lassy..." He nodded his head slightly in a gesture of a small bow as he sat on the chair, his grin getting wider, "May I be knowin yer name, lassy?"
"The name's Amanda Breeches... You don't need to know farther than that..." She takes another sip from her glass of wine, "... So what are you here for, stranger?"
"I be lookin fer someone... A friend o' mine... She be a Corsair lass, possibly same age as I am... I be findin her fer almost 50 years, see, and I be feelin she still be alive..."
"50 years? She special to you or somethin?" She raises an eyebrow at the old man, who only chuckles in response.
"Well... Ye could be sayin that... Amanda..." He takes a swing with his own Black Grog and then places it down on the table with a loud thud, "... Ahhhh... That be good beer, hahahah!
"Anyway... As I be sayin, she be a Corsair lassy... She be flyin this Decurion be christened as the Rio Dela Maria, see... She be havin lots o' spirit in her: stubborn, full o' life, rarely be givin up in somethin she be layin her eyes upon, HAHAHAHAHA!!!
"I be wonderin if ye be seein her, by any chance... It would be meanin so much fer this ol' man if I be hearin even a slight rumor bout her... Her name be... Clare Campeche... Heard o' her?"
The Junkess tries to recall for a moment, then she answers in a skeptical tone, "... Why go all the way here in Dublin for a Corsair probably too weak to even handle herself in a dogfight against the Mollies? Corsairs usually don't come here unless they're after the Gold or some territory."
Katarn's eyes marginally become softer and sadder, his grin retracting to a gentle smile, "Well... Ye see... She be someone who be important fer me... I be not sure as te how, but she just is... I would be likin te find her, even if it be meanin she be dead. Ye know o' her, Amanda?"
Amanda first takes another sip before she began to think and scratched her chin trying to remember if she really found anything about the friend the old man was looking for. After a few minutes more in deep thought, the Junkess points her glass of wine slightly at Katarn, "I'd like to help you, old man, but... I'm in deep enough trouble with some family... I think I may have some info for you, but could you do a favor for a Junkess in need?"
Katarn gets his grin back and his eyes shine in anticipation, "If it be meanin fer some info on me lassy, then I be willin te help. What is it that ye be needin done?"
The woman stands up and starts to walk towards the viewing window of the bar; she motioned for Katarn to follow her.
The viewing window was currently showing a race between some freelancers on the race course, their cruise engines firing up like comets at the back of their nimble ships. The two sit on another table just next to the viewing window, and then the Junkess continued, "... I have a half-wit brother who, because he was just too stupid for his own good, managed to get caught in the war in the Taus and have his ship explode without any cash to ferry himself off that hell hole... Right now he's currently at Outpost Holman awaiting extraction.
"I could get him out myself, but I've just received a sudden appointment with a couple of friends of mine about something going on around here in Dublin... Apparently a Salvager was caught in between the Corsair and Molly war, leaving it adrift in open space and sitting there like a ripe cherry, its crew slowly dying from the life support systems going offline. My job was to find this alleged drifting Salvager with my other wingmates, then fix it as much as I can as I report it to the Junker Congress for further instructions. That's the main reason why I'm here in Dublin.
"What I'm asking of you right now is to get that stupid brother of mine out of Outpost frakkin-Holman and back here in Dublin. His name's Charles Breeches: 5'11", black hair, good build, couldn't tell the difference between a pistol and a chicken wing even if his life depended on it." She sipped her glass one last time before she placed the empty cup on the table.
"By the time you get back here with him, I'll already have been done with the mission. I'll be staying here in the Hood for at least two weeks. That should be enough time for you to get that no-good slacker..."
She places an arm on the table and leans forward a bit, her eyes narrowed down looking at the old man in expectation for an answer, "... So... You in?"
Katarn listened intently through the whole conversation, and when he was given the chance to talk he chuckled and said, "... That be great... It be a simple job... Shouldn't be havin any problems on the way, see... I accept yer offer."
The woman raised her eyebrow in suspicion, "... You really sure you're only in this for the info, Katarn? Most guys would jump sight at the prospect of having a little coin in it."
The old veteran laughs intently at her remark, "Aye, lassy... That be all I be needin from ye... I be findin me lassy fer a long time, see, and any info on her be great music te this ol' man's ears, HAHAHAHA!!!"
Amanda leans back on the chair and relaxes herself, "... Thank you... I guess..."
Durzo was in no mood to be recognised today. One job for a drunk with a grudge was one too many and he could do without any similar clients. His jacket had a hood that he pulled down over his brow. Slowly he walked over to a small booth on the far side of the bar. A few people watched the suspicious man take his seat and sit watching the entrance quietly. The bystanders soon turned their attention back to their drinks and the atmosphere returned to normal.
Ilo:...I am just saying that I don't trust her that much.... Bret:..And I think your ever-reacting....She's fine....We can trust her.... Ilo:...Why do I get the feeling that you want something more from her then just a good conversation.... *Bret keeps his look fixed upon Ilo* Jenson:....Careful on your words Ilo....We're just here to get a meal...nothing more.... Ilo:...*sigh*....Your right Jenson.....Let's just forget what we all said and enjoy our time here... Miki:...Dhitto.....I wonder whut they got fer desserts..... Bret:...Your not getting anything until our meal gets here and thats that... Miki:...Nhut fare......
-"If we do not learn at least one thing a day....Our minds turn to stupor"- Kyle Sparrgrove -2005
Vixen sat, head bowed, a slight hunch in her position. She toyed with her gloved hands, smiling a little at their comments. She looked over for a moment, then looked down at the table again.
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.