After hearing the bawling of the little balled up kid Liam quickly sighed tonight was not going to be his night Liam thought. "Now then first thing who are and what are you doing here, shouldn't you be with your parents at this hour?" Liam quickly asked while stepping off the frayed tail end of the sharp suit Alan had previously bought for special occasions. Liam then quickly turned his head to the second much more small mass near the far corner. Hmm whats this then Liam thought while waiting from an answer from the mound of clothes that were directly in front of him.
Kiriko flinched in the corner with her hands over her head as the man stood on the other child, her tears fell onto her legs as she pressed her forehead down into her knees, remaining in a small ball for protection, similar to the child beneath the shady mans foot in the dim light. Kiriko began to feel a little woozy, lighting on the CM-I implant imbedded in her right arm slowly pulsed red.
Trying not to be loud and draw attention to herself only making it a little worse shook her head quickly as the deafening silence expanded in the room as the man waited for a response from the boy, taking his foot off the boy. *Cly.. Cly i..im sorr..ry,* she said in her mind over and over until her crying became very slight but audible.
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Jacob uncurled from his ball to look up at Liam, who'd stepped off his coat-tails in order to attend to the crying Kusari girl. What a mistake on his part. The malicious street urchin silently slid to his feet, like an oiled serpent. Pulling his trouser legs up, he rolled them around his knees so they wouldn't get in the way during his flight.
It was at this point he shouted, "ya shouldn't have brought me mam into this, mister!" and belted the bemused Bowex employee in the shin with a weighty, scuffed shoe. Whooping and bellowing, the ragamuffin flew from the pub, clattering along the wooden floorboards and out onto the pavement. Before either of the two could properly react, he was out the open door and skittering down the street. Before long he'd find his brothers and sisters.
Inside the 'Legs, the level of personal hygiene immediately rose by 210%.
Liam grimaced as the pain from his left shin seared up almost instantly, he was about to run after the little brat that did and once he found the brat he would hand him over to the property authority's. However Liam found himself preoccupied with the small huddled up girl in the corner.
He crouched down and checked the little girl, he offered a small tissue that he was carrying on him and then he began to speak "so how are you feeling, who are you and just what where doing with them thugs"
Just over a year had passed since the Empress' Legs had been closed down, and the proprietor Alan Howard quite outrageously dragged away and near-enough lynched by a local militia. Since then, the property had lain abandoned, save for a brief infestation of street urchins and an even briefer infestation of Canarian Otters. The residents of the Blue District and the Bretonian Enclave had passed it each day on their way to work or home. It was largely ignored - until a month ago.
The boards on the doors were removed, and rental cleaners trooped in. Their number was legion, and their dusters fearsome. Before long, the grime of a year of abandonment was banished. Not long after, tall and snotty looking men in suits turned up and poked and prodded around the place, looking down their noses at all they surveyed. They approved the premises for whatever it was they had been sent to look for, and forms were stamped. A day after the retreat of the men in suits, a final Clydesdale shuttle set down at the Enclave spaceport.
After a year of screaming futilely at beleaguered Colonial Authority clerks on New London about Zoner brutality, Alan Howard triumphantly returned. A platoon of Bowex dock-workers assisted him with moving the small mountain of stock back into the Empress's Legs. Beers and ciders, spirits and liquor - an entire liquid armoury was shifted into the building, alongside a large hill of salted peanuts.
After a week of preparations a call for employment went out, with the bar taking in day and night staff. A chef, bouncer and barman was employed for each of the three shifts, ensuring the pub could work around the clock. The vacancies were filled instantly, as local residents flocked to paid work. The night before the reopening, a new sign was hoisted to replace the old one, which was to be frank, was looking worse for wear. Alan simply sat back and grinned at his new staff as the doors opened once again.
Once more the Emperor of Kusari's eldest daughter beamed out at the street. The Empress's Legs were finally open again - 24/7.
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A short looking man in glasses and a suit wandered up to the door. Before he could enter, a tree-trunk of an arm shot out and slammed into the doorframe, blocking his progress. A small mountain of muscle, bone and pent up aggression appeared from the murky shadows to reclaim its wandering limb. It loomed over the mousey little man, who crumpled, cowering into his suit.
"SIR," The troll-like giant bellowed. "ARE YOU HISPANIC, EPILEPTIC, ALLERGIC TO NUTS, OR A MART BELLOCK, SIR?" The tiny little man wiped a thin layer of saliva from his face, before shaking his head timidly.
"I'm Harry T-Titchmarch. S-Sorry. What's a M-Mart Bellock?" he queried, shakily.
"A MART BELLOCK IS AN INDIVIDUAL BARRED UNDER THE ADVISEMENT OF THE BOWEX CORPORATION, SIR." At that, the man-troll's brain disengaged and his eyes resumed their prior glossy state. Like a giant, intimidating motion sensor, he was once more inert.
Once Harry's heart had slowed to its usual non-heart attack inducing rate, he scuttled inside and ordered a glass of mineral water. The barmaid shot him a dirty look for it.
A small freighter landed on the Port Canaria. There were red stripes on the side of the hull. They crossed out a word: 'Zoners'. The Fenning was Bellock's Clydesdale he used when he forgot to take his medication and felt like getting even with... whoever.
The Fenning came to a halt and the freighter's doors opened. A man wearing a suit stepped out of the hold and unto the deck of Port Canaria. Some Zoner personel working at the docks looked up, saw who it was, and suddenly were done with their jobs and ran off.
Bellock yelled something into the hold of the Fenning and got a 'up yours, sah!' as a reply. Yes, the crew of the Fenning was exemplary of Bowex conduct.
Bellock, a man in his 40-ies with grey hair, a goatee and the world shortest fuse looked around. He was so close to his beloved re-opened pub. walked towards the centre of the port. as he walked he took a small bottle of pills from his pocket. his medication. he would not need it today. all was well, no Zoners around (anymore)
'So, the Legs are open again...' he mumbled. 'my time hath come!'
He left for the previously closed bar. As he arrived, he saw the Empress' Legs restored to her former glory. A feeling of great victory overcame Bellock.
He looked to his right, saw some random people and started shouting at them: 'HA! NOT SO TOUGH NOW ARE WE?! I TOLD YOU ZONER GITS I'D COME BACK ONE DAY! YOU CAN'T CLOSE A BOWEX PUB WHILE MART BELLOCK IS STILL ALIVE!'
the terrified people ran of screaming like little girls.
Bellock charged the door of the bar. he could smell the beer and sweat. he launched his arm- and it was cought by a gorilla of a man.
'ARE YOU MART BELLOCK?' the man buldered
'ARE YOU A ZONER?!' Bellock screamed back
'ANSWER THE QUESTION, SIR!'
'YES, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! I AM MART BELLOCK! NOW STEP ASIDE AND LET ME GET MY BEER!'
'I AM INSTRUCTED TO BAR ALL MART BELLOCKS FROM THIS ESTABLISHMENT, SIR'
Bellock's mouth fell open
Then it closed again and brought forth an ear splitting:
'PPPEEEETTTEEERRSSSOOONNNNNNN!!!!'
car alarms went off in the distance and terrified children started crying 2 streets further up.
His day had not been going well up to this point, but anyone could tell that from the large tear in his habit where someone had tried to throw him down on the ground. He had been brought to Gran Carina by one of the planetside bishops, who mostly ministered to the small Cretan population on the planet. He had though the whole trip to be slightly silly, seeing as most of the Cretans were Catholic, while he was a friar of the Church of Bretonia. But, the head of his order had insisted that he come hear, and with there being so few Christians in this part of Sirius, any man of the cloth, no matter the sect, was a welcome sight in the eyes of the locals.
That was, until he had started the sermon
In his experience, McCullen had never heard of a priest getting thrown out of a church. Well, he though, there's got to be a first time for everything...
He had been walking around Port Jackson for some time now, hoping to find some remnant of the vehicle he had rented for his time here (which, judging by his luck today, had most likely been stripped down and sold for parts by now.) He had been walking for quite some time when he was shaken from his concentration and self pity by a giant cry of 'PPPEEEETTTEEERRSSSOOONNNNNNN!!!!' The volume of the shout nearly knocked him onto the ground.
Hmm, he though, Peterson... Peter... Peterson... Could they be calling me? He knew the chance was slim, but he decided to rush to investigate anyways.
As he turned the corner, his mouth dropped open with horror. Normally, he would have been fixated on the two large men in front of him, one struggling to get into the establishment they all stood before, and the other struggling to keep him out. That, however, took a back seat in McCullen's mind to the rather sinful picture of the daughter of the Emperor of Kusari. He didn't know wether to scream in outrage, as his religious training had told him to, or burst out laughing, as his Bretonian upbringing was suggesting.
Soon, however, an idea began to formulate in his mind. He had come to this planet to do a job; to preach to the masses. And by the name of St. Joseph, that was what he was going to do!
Here, thought McCullen, are some people that look like they need a sermon.
Bellock was jumping up and down furiously, screaming at the doorman when his BPA went off.
At first he didn't notice it but when he had to inhale to catch breath for his next stream of verbal abuse, he heard the beeping.
'hold up you ***** ****er' he told the doorman and produced his BPA.
'cheap mortgage.... free viagra... RE: hi... what is all this, oh...'
He noticed the announcement and read it. Then he saw he was restored to his former posistion of superviseor. he quickly reached for his medication. He was being thrown to the wolves. He felt an all consuming rage boil up (even more consuming than the foul mood he was already in)
Bellock was sure that this was either:
A: a scheme of Peterson to lock him away in some dusty office
B: a conspiracy led by Zoners, to keep Bellock from space
C: it was somehow the fault of the Zoners anyway
D: it was somehow the fault of the Zoners anyway
E: it was somehow the fault of the Zoners anyway
F it was somehow the fault of the Zoners anyway
'that's it! I've had it. Peterson is going down.'
Bellock turned around and kicked the doorman so savagly between the legs that the former produced a sound that only dogs would be able to hear. Then Bellock sped off past a stunned looking priest to the port.
'allright you sorry lot!' Bellock screamed as he entered the docks where the Fenning was located 'load up on, eh, whatever. we 're going to Scarborough!'
The Zoners who were scared off as the Fenning had first arrived once again ran for their lives as Bellock sped past them, not even noticing them.
'specify whatever, sah' the head engineer replied who was standing in the hold of the Fenning, doing system checks.
'Whatever means whatever you nancy, dont ask questions, we're in a rush' Bellock replied as he started throwing random boxes, including the ones they had just delivered to Port Canaria, into the hold of The fenning. the engineer ducked to evade a passing box that soared overhead and calmy replied: 'have you taken your meds, cap'n?'
'I have or I'd have exploded by now. now shut your cakehole and call the lads to help with loading up. The sooner we're full, the sooner we can leave'
'Why the rush, sah? I thought you would go to the 'Legs'?
At this remark, Bellock stopped his machine-like routine of throwing random stuff into the hold and looked up at the engineer with fire in his eyes. The engineer saw this and cowered back into the hold to call the rest of the crew.
Moments later, the entire Fenning crew were loading / throwing in random goods to fill up the hold of the Fenning as soon as humanly possible. Even in rage, Bellock stuck to the golden Bowex rule: never fly empty.
The hold was filling rapidly. amongst it contents was a part of the cargo they had just delivered to port Canaria, some sceptic tanks that needed emptying, some terrified refugees who were forced into the hold of the Fenning against their will, several crates of whisky and deutorium meant for another ship and livestock with some kind of disease.
'ok lads, get ready to launch. I have an appointment with a soon-to-be-murdered Peterson'
The Fenning launched and headed to Newcastle. On Scarborough Station, Peterson would meet his doom.
Little did Bellock know that peterson had already left Scarborough.
There was a great hustle around the Legs once Bellock decided to start packing things up. A small army of dockworkers began scouring the place, grabbing whatever boxes they could find and shoving them into the hold of the Fenning.
Just a few seconds earlier, things had been in even more of a ruckus that they were now. The man Peter McCullen had seen in front of the bar had stormed off from the bar's entrance just before Peter could get a word in. The man had in his eyes a look of fearsome determination; A look that Peter knew well, as he saw it often in the eyes of young men who were about to do something dreadfully sinful. As the man ran back to the ship he had come to the planet in, Peter began to hobble after him, trying to catch him and speak his peace. The man, however, was in much better shape than Peter, and had a good fifteen meters lead on the old Friar.
"Sir..." Wheezed Peter, straining to squeeze words out of his lungs as the pressure of moving quickly weighed on his body.
"Sir! If I... Could speak to you... For a moment... I have a talk... Maybe you'd like some words from... The Good Book... I have a sermon... Serenity... Psalm of Richard the IV.... Sir!... Wait!..."
Peter finally abandoned the chase; The man had clearly not heard him, or was simply not interested in hearing him. His legs were aching, his lungs hurt, and his head was extremely woozy. He ended up in the middle of the Port Jackson commercial dock, sitting along side some equally tired refugees.
Peter was about to nod off to sleep when suddenly two massive hands grasped his shoulders and shook him awake. He looked up into the face of one of the loaders he had seen swarming around the man he had chased from the Legs. The man (Who seems to be completely unaware of what, or who, he had in his hands) began to drag Peter across the dock to the Fenning.
"Sir!" cried Peter. "What are... I must protest! Unhand me, son! What in the name of the most sacred Duncanstiel the Generous are you doing?"
The Bowex loader simply grunted, "Refugee transport, first class. You'll pay us when you get there."
"But... But... I'm not a refugee... and where is 'There?' " These questions and many more simply fell on deaf ears, as Peter was shoved into the hull of the Freighter on the docks, along side a slightly questionable cut of meat.
Soon, the doors to the cargo bay slammed closed, and darkness engulfed the Friar.
Peter began to mumble a small prayer as he felt the ship's engines rumble and the vessel begin to leave the ground...