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[Bill Bullet]

Setting: Just outside of a Free Rasalhague Republic refit and repair station on a planet 2 jumps from the front-line, a local bar named simply "The Watering Hole". The bar is sizable, with a first and second floor. Due to the FRR's attitude toward mercenaries, they typically populate the second floor, entering via a back stairway. The second floor has round tables and drinks are ordered via the waitresses. The room only covers half of the building before terminating at a building wide balcony that overlooks the first floor. From inside you can move between the two floors via a narrow staircase. The first floor is usually populated by regular army units from all over the Inner Sphere. Booths line the walls and drinks are ordered directly from the bar. A walled-off patio out back offers a view of the base and a chance to drink outside with whoever you please. A long wooden bench circles the walls of the patio, an ancient music player is next to the stairs leading to the second floor, and drinks are ordered inside.

Staff: Walter or "Walt" is the owner/bartender. A Lyran expatriate, he is an older man with his grey hair peeking out of an old cap. Trustworthy and able to whip up just about any drink you can imagine, he has heard the confessions of more soldiers than any pastor. Greta is a local girl and the waitress on the second floor. Constantly flirting and with an innate ability to tell when someone wants a refill, she moves from table to table. Able to remember drink orders, faces, and bad tippers with a memory like a steel trap. Sven is the bouncer and patrols the patio, keeping an eye out for trouble. Smart MechWarriors know not to get in his way, tough MechWarriors wonder if they could take him, and dumb MechWarriors quickly learn they can't. Mr. Green is not part of the staff but he is a regular. A notorious member of the local yakuza, he is the man to talk to about black market items, shady jobs, and "confidential" intel.

Rules: Monologue to your heart's content or talk with staff or other patrons. Fights can be held on the patio if you want, but Sven always steps in before someone gets killed. Feel free to describe the staff and your interactions with them however you want to fit your narrative, just don't kill anyone or the bar closes and then where will you drink?

Suggestions: Due to the bar's proximity to the front lines it sees regular traffic from folks going to fight the Clans for the first time and folks returning from the fight, though the latter category gets smaller with each passing day. Mercs and House troops from all over the Inner Sphere mingle freely (though not always peacefully) since this is the only bar in town with decent drinks.

Edited by Bill Bullet, 12 January 2015 - 05:24 PM.

[Bill Bullet]

Walt watched as another Dropship lifted off from the base, lighting up the dusky evening. Off to fight the mysterious invaders from beyond the Periphery no doubt. He absently wondered how many of its passengers had bought a drink from him last night. Shift change at the base was in 10 minutes and the first few MechWarriors would be trickling in to supplement the small crowd of locals already inside. Walking behind the bar, he straightened a bottle of plum sake here, adjusted the pourer on a bottle of scotch there, and then checked the ale taps one more time. Finally satisfied that his establishment was ready, he pulled a rag out of the bin and began polishing a mug with quiet concentration, wondering what sort of patrons and stories he'd see and hear tonight.

[Bill Bullet]

Bill "Bullet" Chamber needed a drink and a new hip actuator for a HBK-4G. The Watering Hole was a place where he could find at least one of those things. Walking up to the bar, he ordered a pitcher of Tharkad dark and took it over to one of the unoccupied booths that offered a decent view of the front door. As he settled in, a sudden pain in his shoulder gave him a wincing reminder of what happens when you don't watch where you're steering 50 tons of Mech atop a canyon wall. Reaching inside his jacket, a cracked leather relic twice as old as him, he pulled out his data packet and reviewed his orders for the umpteenth time since he'd received them.

>>The WhiteBriar Irregulars are to cease raiding actions against Free Worlds League targets of opportunity and immediately relocate to planet [[redacted]] inside the Free Rasalhague Republic. Further orders from LCAF Command will follow.<<

And that was it. Those three lines had turned his world completely on its head. Bill's unit had been levied by his grandfather, the Duke Heinrich Chamber, a loyal vassal of House Steiner. Since this made the Irregulars a house unit rather than a LCAF unit, they had more freedom to raise hell along the border with the FWL; raiding industry, smashing up militia units, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. But these new orders not only placed them on the far side of the Commonwealth, it put Bill's whole company under the command of a LCAF colonel who's Mech still smelled of fresh paint!

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Bill remembered the smug grin on his new CO's face as he commented on the damage to Bill's Mech. "I wonder how well he'd pilot atop a canyon wall while engaging 3 targets, see if his fancy commission papers could keep him from slipping off the edge." grumbling curses under his breath, Bill's tirade was interrupted by the sound of someone walking through the door of the bar, and he looked up at the newcomer with curiosity...

Edited by Bill Bullet, 06 December 2014 - 12:09 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Marc Campbell tugged open the odd heavy steel door with the plastisteel glass porthole with a grunt. It was an unusual feature considering the rest of the weathered buildings façade, an off shade of white, blue tinted cinderblock, with darkened glass windows on the ground floor, and a transparent glass covered veranda winding around the building that no doubt offered a great view of the sunset setting the horizon crowned with burnished bronzes and rose pink a lavender coloring.

Even as he glanced back, an Overlord began lifting off slowly rising upon an ionized plume flame, the egg-shaped dropship's silvery column of fire adding to the sunset's magnificence. A spectacular sight that would hold most offworlder's or young lovers enthralled, but to Marc it was just another sunset on another world. Instead he turned back to the shadowed interior of the Watering Hole. Like most of the bars that Marc had graced within the last few years the Hole consisted of permanent haze of tobacco smoke being lazily chopped by ceiling fan, neon lights contrasted sharply with the gloom, advertising local brewed beers, and old framed photographs of local sports teams and faded yellow newspaper clippings dotted the walls.

Just what the hell am I going to do now? Marc thought as he shook out his long brown coat as if he were trying shake of droplets of Solarian rain. He nonchalantly scanned the rooms occupants with a quick glace, a mere twitch of the eye. It seemed there was a fair amount of regular local folk playing the part of patron, with the exception of one holding a noteputer who seemed to be paying a bit too much attention to him for comfort.

I'll have to watch that one, best be careful here.Marc made the mental note while strolling over to where the aging bartender idly wiped the well cared for pine bare down with a practiced hand. This was after all the Free Raselhague Republic and mercenaries were frowned upon and hated.

And if they knew what happened on Venfaren...He shivered at the thought of what his unit, the Dalian Guard did, staging a coup, and rising up like the unit's insignia, a great serpent coiled around a planet, crushing the world in it's grasp. And they were nearly successful in their coup seizing control of the world, if only those bloody infantrymen didn't jump the gun and bungle everything by accosting a group of thrice damned MechWarriors. Mechwarriors who escaped, evaded capture, and ruined well laid plans. Not to mention the atrocities committed by the Guard PBI's... He dispelled the thought as he reached the bar with it's well seasoned bartender.

"Hi. Uh," Marc pointed to a large beer mug almost the size of a pitcher. "Timbiqui Dark, please," Smiling the man formerly known as Michael Carillio tossed a crumpled 10 C-bill note upon the highly polished wood.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 13 December 2014 - 05:04 AM.

[plodder]

Planetary customs, tall ugly stern looking fella, just my luck, bet he loves to hate his job, and the people he deals with, like me...
Riz sir, Riz Factor. Yes sir, I am here to join up with a merc unit. Ia there a problem sir?
Mr. Factor, there is no "problem," yet. I do feel, because I care about a lot of things, that your kind of, people.... are bad for society,and our way of life.
I am going to flag you asYellow. Entry is approved and allowed. You have 30 days to have employment, or leave. If you fail to do either in the designated time,you will voluntarily report to any local military or civilian law office or officer for immediate incarceration to arrange and to meet with a customs counsellor. If you neglect to report,a warrant will be issued for your arrest,which will have a minimum of 6 months of either sanitation service, or wherever the judge decides.
Visibly keeping his cool,inwardly beginning to boil, Rizz casually,in a board quite voice,Thank you sir, I understand. Mercs do have a bad reputation. I will do as you say sir.
After leaving the ordeal at the port,Rizz needed something to drink and some local gossip.Stopping to ask an older gentleman with a prosthetic arm,"where can i get a superior ale in this fine place sir? And may I treat you to one?" With a grin, but a shake of the head, "The Watering Hole is where you'll want to go. I am late now, but may take you up on it later, if I may?" (Bert knows he will be taking the young man up. Bert set this up nicely, and there is some unsettled debts to put to grave digger.)
Getting directions, and thanking the man named Bert, Rizz walked the streets towards his goal.

Edited by plodder, 25 May 2015 - 10:05 AM.

[Bill Bullet]

Walter handed his newest patron their drink. "Timbiqui eh? Good stuff that." Handing back the customer's change, Walter appraised the newcomer. "Merc." He said with conviction. "I can always spot one. In my business it pays to tell what sort walk into your bar. Take that fella in the booth over there." Nodding in the direction of the man with the noteputer. "House unit with Steiner, not FedCom you can tell by the boots." Noticing his patron's discomfort Walter quickly added, "Now don't you worry none about your being a mercenary in a Rasalhague bar son, the Watering Hole is as close to neutral ground as you'll get here...erm though if any of the garrison shows up you might wanna head upstairs heh, heh had a bit of a dust up last night. So anything else I can get you lad?"

[xX PUG Xx]

Mack Grimm was in a foul mood and the customs official at the DropPort had not made it any better. ‘Damnable bureaucrat hae somethin’ stuck where the suns don’t shine an’ somehow this day just keeps getting’ better an’ better. What the hell did that boy in front hae tae do wae me? Bloody Rasalhagians an’ there Merc hatin’, all that an’ my baby needs a list of parts as long as ma arm!’ Grimm shook his head, the thick mop of shoulder length red hair swayed around and covered his eyes as he looked at the ground and started walking. ‘I need a drink!’

For some reason Grimm followed on the trail of the Merc that had preceded him through customs, it wasn’t a conscious decision just one of those things that happens when you aren’t really paying attention. His mind was elsewhere else, the damage to Culloden would have been fairly easy to repair just a few months ago. ‘Now I’m on ma own, the lads are gone and I gotta look oot for maself.’ As Grimm turned the corner and finally focussed on his surroundings he realised he was in front of a bar ‘Well there’s the first piece of good luck I’ve had for…. Well a couple of months anyway’ he thought with a wry grin on his bearded face and a sparkle in his crystal blue eyes. As he started towards the strange looking door, he looked up at the sign “The Watering Hole” and rolled his eyes ‘no’ exactly original, I wonder how many bars on how many worlds hae that name?’ Grimm slowed mid step as he spotted a huge guy standing on the patio, ‘Now there’s a Viking if I ever saw one’ Grimm watched a pair of obvious Merc types walk to a side entrance and as the door was pulled open he saw a flight of stairs heading to the second floor ‘That looks like the quiet way in and right now I dinnae want tae go to-ta-toe wie that monster’ the grin came back for a moment ‘Not sober anyway’ Grimm was no tiny Tim himself, standing at over two hundred centimetres and pushing two hundred and thirty pounds of well-honed muscle; with the red hair and beard, he was the typical image of a Highlander from Caledon. ‘Maybe later big lad, maybe later’

He climbed the stairs and entered the second floor of the bar, once his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could see a few people sitting at tables in the room and a few more in cubicles along the walls. Quickly scanning the room he decided to head straight for an empty cubicle from which he could see both the internal and external stairs, passing a barmaid that winked at him as he caught her eye. ‘Oh aye lassie’ Grimm thought with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “Just a glass of whiskey hen, I’ll be over there” he said pointing to his destination.

[Bill Bullet]

Finishing his glass, Bill gave his noteputer one last baleful look and returned it to his inside pocket. "First things first." he muttered. Matilda, his Mech, needed a new hip actuator ASAP and the Lead Tech on base was giving him the run-around. Probably nothing personal, the Rasalhagues are sending anyone who can hold a gun out into the Periphery and it's human nature to take care of your own before some Steiner jock. Standing up, Bill headed towards the bar figuring if anyone knew where he could get parts through...unofficial channels it'd be the bartender. As he walked over he glanced at the man already standing there. Sheesh, jumpy lookin fella. Leaning on the bar he waved the proprietor over. "So tell me boss, what kinda drink should I order if I'm sick and tired of all the red tape standing between me and some new Mech parts?" Sliding a 100 C-Bill onto the counter Bill began drumming it with his fingers.

The old man placed two shot glasses in front of him, filled them with plum sake, and placed a coaster over the one on the left. Then before Bill could inquire further the barkeep whisked the C-Bill out from under his hand quick as a wink and left to attend another customer. Bill looked down and saw a message scrawled onto the coaster. "Second Floor. 5th table from the door. Arrange glasses in front of you." With a grin Bill took the glasses, jauntily winked at the man next to him, and headed up to the second floor.

Once there he quickly found the table he wanted and sat down, arranging the glasses as he had been instructed. "And now we wait I guess." He muttered under his breath. Looking around the dimly lit room he saw a mountain of a man sitting across the way, and wondered if this was his contact.

[WustenFuchs1991]

Nicholas was in a foul mood as he approached the unassuming building with a heavy metal door. Though a Freeborn, he was a proud Mechwarrior of the Clan Wolf Touman. having the honour of being one of the only Freeborns to be in a front line unit in the first wave of the invasion. That lasted as long as it took for his star, all Trueborn, to abandon him and leave him fighting against two lances. Odds that even the best Clansman would find unfavourable.

Two weeks after his being taken as a bondsman Nicholas received an odd order from his new CO. "Nic, I think it's time that you got a taste of Inner Sphere culture. Get to know the people you so readily attacked. Well, that and we need to get that stick out of your ass." Unable to refuse, Nicholas simply offered a curt "Aff" and wondered out the door with a pocket full of C-Bills.

As he entered the bar, he noted with some satisfaction that several of the veteran soldiers gave him shocked looks. Having adopted a more IS style look it was still obvious to those who fought them that he was a Clan warrior. Walking briskly to the bar he met the very amused bartender. "Been a while since I seen someone gather attention like that just walking in the door. You got a name son?"

Pulling a fifty out of his pocket, Nicholas placed it on the well kept bar. "Nicholas, and I will take whatever you got." Not that he would admit it to anyone but he has never touched a drop of alcohol.

Edited by SourKraut91, 30 December 2014 - 01:24 PM.

[xX PUG Xx]

Taking a last mouthful of the dark liquid, Mack relished the warmth as the alcohol slid down his throat, the feeling spreading out into his torso. ‘Ah… that’s better laddie, jist whit the doc’ ordered’. As he returned the glass to the table Mack caught sight of a man at a table across the room sneaking a sideways glance at him ‘Wonder whit his game is? Lyran by the look o’ his breeks an’ boots, an’ waiting fir company unless he drinks two glasses at a time’. Before he could think any further about the stranger Mack noticed a sudden hush come over the bar bellow, for a moment the image of some ancient cowboy movie sprung to mind; the moment the anti-hero walks through the swing doors and everything comes to a standstill. Chuckling he thought to himself ‘Still a nostalgic fool for the old classics Mack?’ He raised his hand to signal the barmaid that he wanted another Whiskey but before he could drop his arm, the girl slid another full glass in front of him, with a wink and a smile she scooped up the pair of ten CBill notes and said "I'll keep them coming" before heading for the stairs. Mack chuckled and smiled at the girl, mouthing a thank you he looked over to the Lyran MechWarrior ‘I wonder whit unit he’s wie to be oot here in the Republic? The fighting is gettin’ scary and the Rasalhague must be asking fir help frae the Lyran’s. Hmm... I wonder if he’s lookin’ fir sign ups.

Mack’s ride Culloden was hurting, the extremely rare Griffin 2N needed the finger actuators replaced in the left arm, until then the fingers would be stuck curled into a fist. ‘At least the beastie can still throw a punch and as ma Da’ said “Always look fir the silver linin’ laddie” and hae’in’ Culloden still walking after that nightmare is definitely a silver linin’ but whit to dae about the missile racks?’ The retrofitted short range racks in the left torso had taken a pounding, they would need to be stripped and rebuilt if not completely replaced; something only a fully equipped Mechbay was capable of. ‘Perhaps oor wee Lyran friend can be helpful wae that, I think it may be time tae make yer acquaintance laddie’. Gathering up his drink and his brown synth-leather jacket, the Grave Walkers patch sown onto the right shoulder, Mack headed over to the man’s table; holding out his right hand and with a friendly smile he introduced himself “The names Mack and I’m hoping we kin help each other oot, mind if a join ye?” placing the glass of whiskey down he settled himself onto an empty chair.

[Mr D One]

"Hey Walt, give me a "Bullet" bourbon"

"Sure thing Dare, tough week huh?"

"Yeah"

Walt started to prepare the drink in a metallic tumbler. It was gold in appearance with the engraving, ~ Dar1ng One ~, on it's side.

"I like how you always use that cup for me Walt"

"Well D, you were one of the fine founders that got this place going. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the founders."

"Thanks mate, that's nice to hear..."

Walt added the .50 cal shell to the drink, the finishing cosmetic touch.

Dare downed the drink in two mouthfuls.

The "Bullet" shot was named after Bill Bullet, a fine mech warrior, who he had fought with, and fought against, on numerous missions. The empty .50 Cal represented a salute.

"So mate, what's going on?" asked Walt. He knew how to speak Dare's dialect as he had been to his home planet Australia, located in Steiner a few times.

"Well Walt, it's this new Raven pilot Aimee. She is impulsive, rash, and has a big mouth. She is a very talented pilot though."

"Sounds like you."

They both laughed. The mood lightened.

Suddenly, Dare startled as he felt a hand touch his genitals.

"Is that an AC20 in your pocket? Or are you just glad to see me?" asked Greta.

"Well, if you don't move your hand, it will unload in a second."

"I know" winked Greta. "Don't blow all you ammo. Save some for later." She left to clear down some tables.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm yes, I do love this place Walt."

"Mech-Cellent, one might say, eh Dare?"

"Yes, Walt, most Mech-Cellent."

Edited by Dar1ng One, 01 January 2015 - 11:46 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

The ancient barkeep approached, a frosty mug of the Lyran beer dripping condensation as he neared. He sat it down upon the high grained wooden bar and gave Marc a slightly mirthful look. "Timbiqui eh? Good stuff that," He placed the change beside the mug with a gnarled hand. "Merc." The old man said with conviction as alarm bells began to sound in Marc's head. "I can always spot one. In my business it pays to tell what sort walk into your bar. Take that fella in the booth over there." Nodding in the direction of the man with the noteputer. "House unit with Steiner, not FedCom you can tell by the boots.

No spurs... The old man was sharp, and probably could cut through whatever bullshrimp lies Marc could throw at him, luckily for him though, the man continued on in a monologue giving the mercenary time to plan his response and remind himself that his tutelage under Jubal and the Thug Lady reinforced planning ahead for anything and thinking on his feet. And it never hurt to have several alias' lined up. He just hoped that the identifications he paid those yakuza on Pesht would hold up to the old man's scrutiny.

"Mercenary? I'm sorry sir, but you have me pegged wrong," Marc trailed off while fishing out a press identification card for the Atreus Broadcasting Network and setting it before the man. "I'm a combat reporter, but these days I spend my time rubbing elbows with the hordes of soldiers being fed into that grinder out in the Periphery. I guess I've picked up some of their mannerisms." He shrugged while pulling back the I.D. card, he didn't want to give the man too good of a look at it. It paid to be careful after all.

Militant sounding footsteps approached, heel to toe steps. Marc glanced to the side and found himself noticing the noteputer wielding Lyran glancing at him with a measuring look. Marc's hackles began to rise when the man turned to the barkeep, but he raised his mug to this lips acting as unconcerned as possible about the Lyran and overly bright bartender. He choked when the Lyran spat out words in a slightly Germanic accent to the old man.

"So tell me boss, what kinda drink should I order if I'm sick and tired of all the red tape standing between me and some new Mech parts?" The Lyran slid a 100 C-Bill onto the counter and began drumming it with his fingers. Marc busied himself with taking another pull off his mug, but he looked on their conversation from the corner of his eye.

The aging bartender whisked off and with a grace belying his age, deftly filled two shot glasses with the liquid from a strange exotic bottle, he then placed a coaster over one glass with some scribbling upon it, Looking on as he was, Marc couldn't make out the words and wasn't going to ask either, while the old man strolled off with a wink and 100 C-bills richer to tend a new patron.

Marc took another long pull from the the mug of Timbiqui Dark as the Lyran took his two glasses and headed off towards the stairs. After a few moments, and a few more cautious sips from his mug, Marc began to shadow him, mug in tote, with hopes of also making contact with the local black-market. The Lyran wasn't the only one who could use some new mech parts...

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 08 January 2015 - 09:45 PM.

[Bill Bullet]

Blake's blood he's big! Bill took the newcomer's hand and shook it firmly. "Please sit down. My name is William Chamber, CO of the WhiteBriar Irregulars. I assume you're the one the barman wanted me to talk to?" The flicker of confusion that passed over Mack's face was all Bill needed to realize his error. "Apparently not! I apologize friend I'm waiting for someone with whom I can discuss the tragic state of disrepair I find my Mech in."

Laughing quickly to cover his embarrassment, Bill pushed on. "So what brings a mercenary to the FRR? Last I checked, your kind weren't exactly welcome by the locals. Hell, my-" Bill abruptly remembered that command of the Irregulars was no longer his and fought to keep himself from scowling. "*ahem* OUR unit was invited here by the local government and yet I doubt the locals would piss on us if we were burning." That got a chuckle from his new companion. "So any idea what's got them all so nervous? I doubt the Rasalhagues would go this far over some bandits from the Periphery."

In fact the lack of information was driving Bill crazy. The LCAF colonel (damn his eyes) had been hiding behind "need to know" stating only that the Irregulars were being sent to the Periphery to "observe, report, and advise". The Irregulars, being at company strength on a good day, were traditionally raiders. Go in, steal everything not bolted down, smash up any Free World's League mechs that got in the way, fly home laughing. This whole mission was so far out of his comfort zone it made Bill's teeth itch! Damnit he was gonna get some answers!

[WustenFuchs1991]

Moments after receiving his drink, some dark amber liquid that made his nose burn, Nicholas began noticing a few things about his fellow patrons. First was the fact that the entire first floor was populated almost exclusively by civilians and FRR soldiers. And every single one of them looked at him with disdain. As far as he knew, the nature and purpose of the Clans was still lost upon most of the Inner Sphere. Only those who actually fought them knew who they were. If that was the case then why did everyone look like they wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire?

It wasn't until he noticed other patrons start going upstairs. These ones looked more like his new comrades. Mercenaries. While he had no reservations about defending himself if attacked, he was still under orders to "play nice" as it were and antagonizing the locals did not fit into that category very well. Picking up his drink, which was still untouched, Nicholas ascended the stairs and took a look around. Not much seemed to catch his eye with the exception of the man who looked like he could give an Elemental a proper challenge in a Circle of Equals.

Taking a seat on his own, Nicholas began nursing the drink he had been provided. After his first sip he recoiled back looking into the glass with a face of disgust. "Ugh, how is it that anyone can find this appealing?" Regardless, he continued to drink slowly and, not quite understanding the alluring effects of alcohol yet, quickly found himself wanting another.

This being his first time drinking, Nicholas quickly discovered that one drink can quickly turn into five and hard liquor does not sit well with first time drinkers. Even as he downed the last drop he would later come to realize that the vile liquid had the power to undo all the hard training and stoic behaviour that he had learned from birth.

Looking back, this is the point where Nicholas would have liked to go back in time and stop himself from acting like an ignorant pup, but hindsight is twenty twenty after all. The empty glass hit the table far harder than intended but did not break, a good quality for a glass in a bar to have. His current predicament mixed with a fair amount of expensive liquor led to a interesting mixture of meloncholy and unadulterated rage. Not bothering to police the volume of his voice aside from not bellowing to the stars themselves, Nicholas began to drunkenly slur his regrets.

"If I ever return I will challenge that coward of a Star Commander to a Trial of Grievance and I will slay him. And Bloodname be damned! He brings nothing but shame to the name Kerensky!"

It was at this point that the drunken tirade ended and the former Clanner sat there not quite sure what to do next.

Edited by SourKraut91, 06 January 2015 - 12:01 AM.

[Mech42Ace]

Real good story you've got going and Im sorry to interrupt but there's just one thing I've gotta ask: are you referencing the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy with the title of the topic?

[Bill Bullet]

Mech42Ace, on 07 January 2015 - 10:14 AM, said:

Real good story you've got going and Im sorry to interrupt but there's just one thing I've gotta ask: are you referencing the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy with the title of the topic?

Kinda yeah. The setting is during the early days of the Clan invasion which to some of the Inner Sphere and especially to people in the FRR must have felt like the end of the universe. And it's in a bar. My writing style is subtle like that.

[plodder]

beer in hand and something to eat upstairs on the second floor, watching the serving girl take kind patient attention to her customers. To some she would flirt, to others she would be polite, but she reminded him of his little sister, if only she were still alive. Her quick bird like movements made him smile, thinking of how little Norah flitted about as a wren in a Bush.
Oh dang, she just noticed me smiling at her, and is now coming this way.
How can I help you sir? You need another beer or something?
with a nervous laugh, no no, i, you just?reminded me of my little sister and remembering her makes me smile, so thank you, I miss her greatly.
She asked him if this was a pick up line, then, After his explanation, she understood that his sister had died with his family, and most of his friends. Clanners, Wolf Clan. Death to the invaders.
Sorry to bring you down about her, but you really did remind me of her.
well sir, with a confused smile on her face, can I get you anything.
No, but if you know anyone hiring mech pilots, let me know. Nodding, she smiled and walked away.

Edited by plodder, 08 January 2015 - 01:57 PM.

[plodder]

Rizz did not want to go down the path his memories were taking him. The darker corners inside himself could channel him though mazes of regret,pain, and rage. Doing that would not be wise. He had no friends here,comrades to pull him back before he could hurt someone. Be it another or himself, besides, he had to make an account for himself.
You would not guess he had 6,000,000 c-bills to his name to look at him, and to him, that is a good thing.
Being dispossessed was a horrible thing. Being compensated by his contract helped, but not enough. His Atlas was gone. In the family for 4 generations, he lost her in a battle,in a war won against corporate pirates. The Atlas was legged as the unit retreated for better ground. It was gone when they retook the same ground the next day.
Given a Raven for partial compensation, it was not the kind of mech he wanted to use. A good mech, and agood price he got. Besides, without a unit to cover shipping costs, it was too expensive without a job in hand. That and my pay should get me closer to owning a mech I want, or at least one i would feel comfortable in battle with.
What should I set my heart on?

Edited by plodder, 09 January 2015 - 07:43 PM.

[Bill Bullet]

"If I ever return I will challenge that coward of a Star Commander to a Trial of Grievance and I will slay him. And Bloodname be damned! He brings nothing but shame to the name Kerensky!"

The sudden shout drew the attention of almost everyone in the room, a fact that suited Mr. Green perfectly. Slipping through the crowd he went immediately to his designated table, and could barely contain his grin at what he saw. Sitting there with the prerequisite drinks were two customers with another fellow keeping an eye on them from a slight distance. Without preamble or introductions he sat down and immediately drank a shot of the plum sake. "Aaaah nothing like a good war to drum up business." he said placing the empty glasses down. "Gentleman, my name is Mr. Green. If you are here on this planet, that means you are going to fight, and if you are here at this table you need my help. No doubt the hospitality of the Rasalhague Republic has been lacking. So please, tell me what it is you require."

[Bill Bullet]

His attention grabbed by the angry shout of the young Mechwarrior by the wall, Bill almost leapt out of his skin when Mr. Green sat down across from him and Mack. The newcomer was obviously the one the barman wanted Bill to talk to, his rapid fire way of talking reminding Bill of a used car salesman. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Bill looked over Mr. Green with an appraising eye. Short and lanky with Oriental features he was clearly a native of the Draconis Combine. Wearing a green silk suit and black dress shirt, he accented his speech with waving fingers covered in heavy gold rings. Closer inspection revealed an ornate tattoo crawling up from inside the man's shirt.

Yakuza, but hell if he's like any Drac I've ever seen. Bill had no real issue dealing with the mobster, getting the parts he needed for his Mech was all he cared about. "Alright Mr. Green, my name-" With a rapid flutter of his ringed fingers, Mr. Green cut him off. "No, no, no, no, no names. You are Lyran, and probably stupid I will call you baka." Looking at Mack he said "You are giant, and quiet, I will call you Rock." Without taking his eyes off Mack he suddenly waved to a man standing off to the side. "This one thinks he is good at hiding, I will call him Sneaky."

Bill was still trying to recover when Mr. Green slid a noteputer into the center of the table. "Type in what you need and the easiest way to reach you. I will provide you with prices and where to acquire your purchase." He then drank the remaining shot of sake and leaned back, steepling his fingers together patiently.

Taking the noteputer, Bill typed in "One right hip actuator HBK-4G" and his contact info then slid it over to Mack. While he waited, he glanced over at the man Mr. Green had pointed out and named Sneaky, realizing it was the fellow he had seen standing at the bar. This just keeps getting more and more interesting. He thought.

Edited by Bill Bullet, 12 January 2015 - 05:25 PM.