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[xX PUG Xx]

The momentary confusion Mack felt from the Lyrans comment passed as he sat ‘the wee man’s lookin’ fir somebody awright, a guess it’s no’ me but we’ll see where this goes’. Listening to his introduction he noted the slight hesitation when he mentioned the name of his Unit, it almost sounded as though it did or at least had belonged to him. ‘Well if anyone is goin’ tae be lookin’ fir a pilot it’s gonna be the man holdin’ the reins’ Chuckling lightly as William inquired as to why he was here, Mack was about to put out a feeler for his chances of employment but before he could say anything a sudden angry shout broke the gentle murmur of conversation around the bar, drawing both William Chambers’ attention and his own. Turning to find the source Mack started ‘Whit the hell is a Clanner doin’ here an’ how the hell did a miss him comin’ up the stairs? By the looks o’ him he cannae handle his booze though, things are getting’ mare interestin’ by the minute Mack’ turning back to William Chambers a smile crept onto his face but quickly disappeared as a small, wiry man with an Oriental look suddenly sat between the Lyran and himself. His rapid fire style of speech reminded Mack of some dodgy character from a movie, then he introduced himself as Mr Green and Mack almost let his stone mask slip in laughter. The memory of another old Terra film came to him, something about (bank?) robbers and dogs or wolves or canines of some sort, all of the characters had been named by colour ‘A wonder who Mr Pink is?’ Mack thought to himself.

He listened as the little man prattled on, his hands and fingers flicking around almost no-stop; the motion constantly tugged the collar of his expensive looking shirt, exposing the trailing ink of a tattoo ‘Hmm, Yakuza; a shoulda known they’d hae a presence here. Where there’s fighting, there’s money tae be made an’ the Yakuza like their cut o’ the action.’ Mack had no qualms dealing with gangsters, most quartermasters he had dealt with were petty criminals anyway but just weren’t as honest about their activities ‘Aye Mack nothin’ like dealin’ wae an honest criminal tae keep ye on yer toes’ . Chambers took up the notepad the professional middleman had placed on the table, using the time to look over the man that had been pointed out observing them; the coat made him look like some sort of cowboy ‘Wonder if he wis the one that stopped the show downstairs? Na, a bet it wis the Clanner but you’ll be worth the watching too laddie’ Nodding toward ‘Mr Sneaky’, Mack turned back to see Chambers holding out the noteputer; pausing for a second he wondered how far he could take his requests without being skinned for every CBill he had.

Fumbling slightly with the thin stylus he began to outline the list of parts that he required at the minimum, if the prices were not too exorbitant he would see what could be done for the remainder. ‘Griffin 2N -Three times finger actuator, elbow actuator and two heatsink control valves; SRM rack slide and two sets of arming actuators. Aye that should dae it fir the noo, this is gonna strip half o’ ma pay-out frae the Walkers but a cannae earn mare wae out a ‘Mech’ Looking over the list one more time, he nodded and slid the device toward Mr Green leaving one finger pinning it to the table as the man tried to retrieve it. Mr Green looked up to find Mack staring into his eyes, the smile he had on his face didn’t touch his eyes and Mack nodded once, keeping the tone of his deep voice light he said “You ken where tae find me Mr Green, I’ll ken how tae find you too. Business is business an’ happy customers are repeat customers, dae yae understand?” The Yakuza gave a mini bow of his head, a hint of amusement and respect in his eyes.

[Thom Frankfurt]

The upper story to the Watering Hole contrasted sharply to the downstairs common room. Even though you could see all the same local building materials cobbled together probably by the same hands, to make up the upper story, the two clashed like day and night.

Garish neon signs who's light seemed to leap from the wood paneled walls, advertised a whole slew of brews from across the Inner Sphere. From the rafters hung the planetary flag of Blackjack dangling over a framed poster for the Blackjack School of Conflict. Directly across there was a mounted ad for the Sun Zhang military academy and a poster ad for the Galatea hiring hall battled with wall space with an ad for Reina Sharkov's Technical Institute.

Marc made a mental note of the fact that while downstairs was catered to the local clientele, upstairs was aimed more to people who were more 'worldly' and had been outside of Rasalhague space. He strolled across the room to look over the latest Solaris bouts playing across a wall mounted vid caster. Scrolling across the bottom of the screen streamed the latest bout results for the open circuit tournament.

Latest. Humph, it's still at least three weeks old, Marc thought morosely, before focusing on the commentators on the screen.

"Well fight fans, we have a treat for you, coming now to the box we have none other than two time Solaris Grand Champion, DeMarkus Frankfurt, welcome to the booth Champ."

A portly cheap suited 'Ragin' Ryan Armstrong recited in a pleasant tone while awarding the retired MechWarrior his best plastic smile. Marc began to turn away as the scarred up, snowy maned MechWarrior smoothed down his green tinted black Armani suit but stopped as the man's distinctive Warlockian accent played from the vids speakers.

"A'tank you's,Ryan. It'sa good to be a'here, I'sa been waitng all'a day fer dis next'a bout. I'msa wondering how dat der Sonia Clemintie can'a adjust to's using dat Cat'o'phract after da loss of's her Marauder." Marc turned around suddenly and regarded the elder MechWarrior in a new light as the last time he heard the barely comprehensible accent. It had been a few months but the words echoed clearly in his head.

"I'msa Bad Luck Thom Frankfurt, da Hardcore Renegade wit balls da size of hand grenades, and'a I'ms a badass here's on vacation!" Marc suppressed a shudder not only at the butchering of the English language, but the memory of a particularly annoying Blackjack pilot who he was zeroing in on during the failed coupe attempt. The same name with the same accent was a bit too much of coincidence for the merc turned bandit turned uh, whatever. Marc stood there silently imagining what a more youthful Frankfurt would look like before slowly hoisting his mug in a begrudging salute to the man.

The sudden slamming of a glass banging away on a tabletop like a judges gavel snapped Marc's attention away from the vid caster just in time to catch the red faced man's outburst.

"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!"

In the wake of the awkward silence that followed, Marc barely noticed a slip of green wind it's way through the crowd heading towards the table that the spurless noteputer wielding Lyran sat at. Perhaps the gray leather clad drunk with the outlandish accent was part of a distraction? Only one way to find out. He made a beeline to the table passing the curly haired top-heavy bar wench who gave him a wink and drew up short upon seeing the short lanky Asian man with the rapid fire speech.

"No, no, no, no, no names. You are Lyran, and probably stupid I will call you baka." Looking to the man sitting next to the Lyran he said, "You are giant, and quiet, I will call you Rock." Without taking his eyes off the silent on he suddenly waved a bejeweled hand his direction. "This one thinks he is good at hiding, I will call him Sneaky."

Standing there feeling dumb, Marc felt his cheeks grow hot. It had been a long time since anyone blatantly pointed out his presence while trying to sneak up on them. That was a bad habit to have which always could end up badly with someone pointing a gyrojet pistol your way just when you thought you were safe. The mere fact that the green suited man didn't openly brandish a firearm his direction was a slight relief. Marc shamefully approached the table and silently took a seat.

The rapid fire speech continued as the Asian man, Kuritian? slid a noteputer towards the Lyran. "Type in what you need and the easiest way to reach you. I will provide you with prices and where to acquire your purchase." The man then drank the remaining shot of liquor and leaned back, steepling his fingers together patiently. Marc tried not to act like he noticed the intricate ink work peeking out from under the black marketer's clothing, busying himself with another pull from his mug of beer.

That's most definitely not a 'I heart Mom' tattoo, and the fact that he still has all his digits means he's very, very good.

Marc downed the last of his mug and frowned at the spider web of suds at the bottom of his glass as the Lyran slid the noteputer to the man playing the 'strong silent type' card. Marc busied himself with attempting to flag down the top-heavy serving girl as the 'Rock' typed away at the noteputer. Finally after what seemed like ages the warrior slide the device over, but he slid it back towards the black market-middleman, and just when he was going to add a colorful remark to the action, the man spoke out in yet another incomprehensible accent.

“You ken where tae find me Mr Green, I’ll ken how tae find you too. Business is business an’ happy customers are repeat customers, dae yae understand?” The Yakuza gave a mini bow of his head, a hint of amusement and respect in his eyes.

Well played, Caledonian, well played. Marc silently saluted the obvious mercenary and quickly changed his opinion of the man.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 08 February 2015 - 04:06 PM.

[plodder]

Like any bar, there were interesting sights. The ancient man at the bar stool nursing a clear drink. He looked like a forgotten whiskey cask, ramrod straight atop his perch, amongst the noise and bustle, yet alone with whatever thoughts he fed upon. A larger senior citizen I Have never seen, and never one so powerfully built, with hands the size of dinner plates. In age he must have been closer to 9 decades than to 8.
Then there where the ladies. In some bars you found only one type of women. In ones like this, you found all types of pretty sights, and some less so. There were the wives of the men that came,single girls looking for love,others to forget the love they've lost, trading it in for cheap and thrilling imitations. Most men eager to help in the supposed fun, the hurricane diversions.
The sight that interested Rizz was the fellows doing some type of business. It looked serious, and serious combined with a mech pilot, meant work he might get, or at least a lead to it.
Deliberately not showing interest, yet, doing exactly that, Rizz could see the mech jock looked excited and relieved by his body language, while his facial expression was of common interest.
Bad timing has ruined many a day. Coming toward Rizz was a waitress, like a strutting neon light in the place, advertising city night's glamorous, in a prettier package.
The waitress that had served him before must be on a break or off shift, this one is no way sweet, or any reminder of his sweet sister, so, he was a bit relieved that his lost sister's memories wouldn't silently sing to him. Reproachful sweet melodies through the original waitress's manner or appearance, but, this new waitress was another trial he wanted to avoid, impossible though he knew.
As she had gone from patron to patron, she smoothly slinked, rolled her hips, batted her imitation eye lashes,flirtatiously smiled/smirked her painted face, making men laugh or blush, depending on their dispositions.
Rizz Factor did not like this type of woman, actually, he despised them. His reasoning was sound.
Once he had fell completely in love with one almost the exact copy of this young conniving flirtatious beauty. She had claimed unfailing love, that he was like no other man she had ever been with. That was how he felt too, until his mech was gone,and he stopped spending his money on anything but necessities. But now is not the time to remember, or act the spurned lover, this he thought. Now is the time to be as any other man, do not stand out, do not draw any attention by abstentious behavior. I would normally be harsh and ask for an non alcoholic drink, pretending to drink. Better to be sharp the1st day in town. This brazen lass would be boisterous and loud, playing for her fans, her audience if he shunned a manly drop of drink. Indeed, many were watching her memorizing gate, prancing toward my table. By habit, the men then checking me out by proximity, if not in interest. The business man with the pilot even glanced at me, he took me in entirety in that glance, it was unnerving, calculating, then, gone, as he went back to his work. She looked at Rizz, this, "Every man's waitress" assessing as the business man had.
Batting those lashes over those eyes too truly colorful to be anything but special contact lenses,"What you want handsome?" Giving Rizz the, YOU WANT ME, look, DON'T YOU?
So he gave her the appropriate/inappropriate look required to blend in, giving her the head to toe, with expected pauses in the expected vacinities.
He wanted to puke on her impractical flowery pump shoes. Her feet will be ruined by 30! Give me 3 fingers of a good whiskey, not to expensive good lookin, but not cheap either, you know what I want right? Said with a wink and a grin. Sassily smiling, likewise she walked to get my order, knowing she would earn a good tip from the show. Nobody gave him a second glance, except those in a darker corner booth, a ways behind Rizz. The man named Bert, and his granddaughter on her break. Bert was the man that had earlier suggested this place to Mr Rizz Factor. Mr Factor did not know or notice this.

Edited by plodder, 25 January 2015 - 08:10 AM.

[Bill Bullet]

As Mr. Green collected his noteputer and left to sit at his normal table, Bill felt a great weight slide off his shoulders. Finally some decent luck, once I get Matilda up and running again I can focus on getting my unit back from that feckin' FedCom nitwit.

Looking around at his new companions, Bill quickly assessed them. Well Mack seems a decent sort and this other fella...well damn "Sneaky" is right on the money. I never saw him coming, if he's as good at piloting a Mech as he is at stealth and I was on the business end of his weapons a cracked hip actuator would be the least of my problems. Recognizing talent when he saw it, Bill made up his mind.

"Alright fellas, unlike Mr. Green I appreciate the use of names when I do business. My name's William Chamber. Friends call me Bill and my lancemates call me Bullet. I'll lay my cards on the table, I'm the CO of a Lyran house unit called the WhiteBriar Irregulars." The blank looks on their faces put a pin into the balloon of his ego. Well I guess being infamous on the FWL border won't make you infamous in the Rasalhague Republic...Bill quickly moved on with his hiring pitch "We're a demi-company of medium to heavy Mechs who specialize in pirate hunting and lighting raids against heavily defended targets." Bill decided to leave out the fact that the targets were usually Free Worlds League corporations, the skills used to hunt pirates translating excellently to the kind of action one sees with a letter of marque from the Archon. "I'm always looking for good pilots and good information. Currently I have a small amount of the first and none of the second. So the question is this; is anyone here looking for dangerous work with lousy pay, zero benefits and a short life expectancy?" Grinning at the timeless soldier's joke Bill waited for a response, glancing at each of his new companions.


(Gah sorry it's been so long, life got in the way piloting an Atlas labelled "Responsibilities" but I'm back!)

Edited by Bill Bullet, 04 February 2015 - 11:51 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[Real life always comes first, Bill. Despite how much it sucks to admit it. Also might be editing this one in the upcoming days, adding more and maybe rearranging things. That's all.]

And just where the hell is he going with that noteputer?

Marc wondered as Mr. Green deftly snatched the device up from under the Caledonian/Northwinder's finger, then silently offered an oily smile before leaving with a glimmer of light glancing off on one of his ringed fingers and the wisp of silk.

Well, I wished to make contact with the local underworld, and now I have, now I just have to live long enough to see what the repercussion of this decision is. The Wallacian thought while glancing over the various bar patrons.

With his paranoia nipping at him, he could swear that everyone from the grey leather clad drunk, to the uprooted mountain of a man, to the top heavy serving girl, basically everyone on the floor were paying way too much attention to the wheeling an dealings at his table.

"Alright fellas, unlike Mr. Green I appreciate the use of names when I do business. My name's William Chamber. Friends call me Bill and my lance mates call me Bullet. I'll lay my cards on the table, I'm the CO of a Lyran house unit called the WhiteBriar Irregulars." Marc frowned and looked into the sudsy bottom of his mug while trying to dredge up any mention of the unit and finding none.

Who?

Silence conjured up an almost hurt look upon the Lyran officer who charged onward into the rest of his recruitment pitch. "We're a demi-company of medium to heavy Mechs who specialize in pirate hunting and lighting raids against heavily defended targets." Bill paused momentarily, if to judge their reaction or something else, Marc couldn't tell, "I'm always looking for good pilots and good information. Currently I have a small amount of the first and none of the second. So the question is this; is anyone here looking for dangerous work with lousy pay, zero benefits, and a short life expectancy?" Grinning at the timeless soldier's joke Bill waited in silence glancing from Mack to himself.

Marc almost wanted to give a sigh of relief, he wanted an out from the Dalian Guard, and Mr. Bill-Bullet-Chamber just offered him a golden ticket if he dared take it. Weighing the situation a second, and quickly coming to the conclusion that this choice could very well end badly with the Lyran and himself dead, Marc nodded. If he had his way, one day his days would end with all remembering him being a man of honor, a MechWarrior, regardless of his checkered past. Despite the Wallacian's conscious screaming at him to get up and walk away from the table, he found himself offering a beaming smile.

"Marc Campbell," he fished inside his jacket pocket, digging out his fake ABN press pass. "ABN, ah, Arterus Broadcasting News. I'm a combat journalist currently on assignment with a merc unit that's heading off towards that grinder out in the periphery." He paused pulling the forged press pass back, something telling him that Mr. Chamber would be validating any story he came up with.

Disappointment warred with civility upon the officer's face, and Marc found himself raising a boney finger and giving the Lyran a shrimp-eating grin. "I do however happen to be an experienced mechjock, doing a tour with the 2nd Oriente Hussars and owning my own battlemech. That and the mercs I was running with have grown weak in the knees upon hearing the horror stories coming out from the Periphery, so I'll gladly join you, ah, where do I sign up?" Marc met the Lyran's even gaze before trailing off trying to figure out what call sign he'd give to this alias.

Snake, Viper, Dragon, Specter, Shade, Ghost... Marc quickly went down a mental list of the popular names while looking over the bar area. His gaze took in the distant vid caster taking in the image of two Cataphract's unloading death and destruction upon one another, the guest announcer's excited commentary in his poor English blaring from the caster and scrolling across the top of the screen in subtitles.

What planet was Ole' Frankfurt from again... ah, Warlock!

"Back with the second my call sign was Warlock." Marc added as an afterthought and giving Bill a smile as the serving girl arrived, frothy mug of Timbiqui Dark in hand.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 05 March 2015 - 06:57 PM.

[xX PUG Xx]

Mack kept an eye on Mr Green as he walked nonchalantly back to his table and began tapping away on the noteputer, all the while listening to William Chambers sales pitch. He caught the slight look of disappointment when no one seemed to recognise the name of his unit but somewhere in the back of his head Mack remembered a story about a small mercenary outfit making a mockery of a Marik line unit and getting away with a sizeable amount of goodies. Without letting it show on his face, Macks estimation of Mr Bullet went up a notch; it took guts to mess with House line units and skill to get away with it “Yae’ll need aw the guts an’ skill ye can muster against the Clans laddie, I wonder if ye have whit it takes” he silently wondered.

When Mr Sneaky began to speak something in his voice caught Mack’s attention that started a niggling itch between his shoulder blades and made the hairs on the back of his thick neck stand on end. Over the years Mack had learned to trust this almost sixth sense as it had saved his skin more times than he could remember, both in and out of combat “’A’ve dodged a few psycho banshees thanks to that itch” he had once confided in a Sergeant from the Grave Walkers. The thought of the grizzled, clean shaven Gunnery Sergeant sobered him and almost sent him down a memory lane he would rather not relive right now.

Refocusing on Marc Campbell, Mack couldn’t quite put an age to him or place the accent but something in his tone or style of speech gnawed at his subconscious “How do a ken you?” he thought to himself. The introduction as a journalist seemed to explain the recognition but for some reason it wasn’t Marc Campbells face that was familiar, it was the voice. Before he could ponder it further Mack realised the Lyran was looking at him and was obviously waiting for a proper introduction. “Nae fancy call signs fir me, just plain auld Mack’ll do the trick and as fir info. Well laddie if yae dinnae ken whit is oot there, yer in fir one hell o’a shock. Dependin’ on who ye talk tae it’s either the ghosts o’ Kerenskys Star League army, returned tae take revenge oan the House Lords, or it’s a horde o’ advanced aliens plannin’ tae enslave the human race.”

Mack paused to take a sip from his glass; his hand shook slightly as he raised it and chuckled to hide the motion. Memories of Clan ‘Mechs striding past burnt out personnel carriers and the mangled husks of BattleMechs came unbidden. The fight on Apollo had been ferocious, the Clan warriors sweeping aside all resistance like dust motes before a broom; everything the Walkers had thrown at them was destroyed or captured, Mack had heard of no one else getting off planet. His escape had been nothing short of a miracle; Mack owed that merchantman his life and would do all he could to repay him, even if it meant going back out there and fighting the Clans for every inch of every planet they held.

“A’ve fought them an’ they ar’nae ghosts or aliens, they die jist like us and they bleed jist like us. They’ve got better tech, that’s fir sure but they ar’nae invincible” pointing over his shoulder to the drunken leather clad warrior “There’s yer Clan warrior, except a’m nae sure he’s a guid example; that lad cannae handle his booze. If it’s a fight yer lookin’ fir Mr Chambers then yer headin’ in the right direction, the Clanners’ll gie ye aw the fight ye can handle” realising he had begun to rant Mack took a deep breath, regaining control of his emotions and calming himself before looking William Chambers directly In the eye he said in a quiet steady voice “If yer goin’ oot there against them, a’m in. A’ve got a score tae settle an’ a’ll gie ye aw I can tae make sure a can pay it, once ma Griffin is fixed up a’ll sign oan the dotted line fir ye” Downing the rest of his whiskey with a flourish he nearly burst into laughter as the barmaid slide another down in front of him “Hen if I wis a decade younger a’d ask ye tae marry me” and pushed another ten CBill note onto the table.

The ghosts of Apollo quietened for the moment but Mack knew they would always be there; at least it looked as though he would have help laying them to rest and the whiskey made the waiting a little easier.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Quit staring at me that way...

Indeed the thoughtful looks Mack was aiming his way as the former Dalian Guardsmen spewed his lies was setting the former bandit's nerve on edge. They left Marc with the feeling that he was tacked to a table and about to be dissected. A very unsettling thought given Marc's sketchy past.

Ignoring the thoughtful looks Mack was continue shooting his way, Marc took up the newly arrived frothy mug and took a long pull from his Timbiqui Dark as Mr. Chambers fixed the Caledonian/Northwinder a quizzical look.

After a pregnant pause Mack began to drawl on in his near incomprehensible accent. Finding it too difficult to follow, Marc turned his attention to the patrons. Red faced and swaying drunkenly the gray leather clad youth stared into the sloshing depths of a glass of Black Label with wonder. Like a shark the thumb breaking bouncer wound his way through the crowd, his eyes seeming to take in everything and move on when not seeing any problems. Top-heavy deftly wound her way through the patrons, her movements more akin to a world class dancer than a serving girl at some backwater bar. In a shadowy corner Mr. Green stabbed away at his noteputer with a stylist with well practiced ease. Marc turned back to Mack and the Lyran just as the man trailed off in his outlandish accent and top-heavy arrived, a high-ball glass with another whiskey for the Caledonian/Northwinder.

“Hen if I wis a decade younger a’d ask ye tae marry me.” The man added to the swill-server, passing her a crumpled 10 note as she caressed the man's shoulder.

Wait a second... He said something about a Griffin. And Mr. Bullet in-da Chamber said that his unit was a medium-heavy unit.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Bill, but you said a medium-heavy demi-company, correct? How would Mack's Griffin and my ride fit into the mix, as scouts?

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 12 March 2015 - 10:57 AM.

[WustenFuchs1991]

Having been provided some time to sit and think, Nicholas began to calm himself down and simply enjoy the buzz and atmosphere. He could easily see why bars were such a popular place to spend free time. Not that he had much of that until after his capture. It wasn't until a heavily accented voice caught his attention that his gaze fell upon his fellow patrons.

"Dependin’ on who ye talk tae it’s either the ghosts o’ Kerenskys Star League army, returned tae take revenge oan the House Lords."

Looking back through the room, Nicholas quickly realized the speaker was the imposing man from earlier. Interestingly, he seemed to now have an audience. Two men who clearly carried themselves as mechwarriors. Perhaps not to the caliber that he was used to, but clearly better than the pathetic excuse for warriors that the KungsArme threw at him.

Trapped in his thoughts, Nicholas missed the rest of the mans sentence, but caught up again to notice him point over his shoulder with his thumb. Right at him...

“There’s yer Clan warrior, except a’m nae sure he’s a guid example; that lad cannae handle his booze. If it’s a fight yer lookin’ fir Mr Chambers then yer headin’ in the right direction, the Clanners’ll gie ye aw the fight ye can handle”

A poor example of a Clan warrior was he? The very idea of a cowardly barbarian judging him was so foreign to him that Nicholas was not sure quite how to feel. On one hand he realized that this man did not know him and was simply making an observation based on that fact that he was currently piss drunk and was younger than himself. The logical side of his argument was, however, mired by the fact that he was piss drunk and instead settled on the more immediate thoughts of defending his honour, such as it currently was, and teach this dezgra merc his place.

Making up his mind to confront the heavily accented mechwarrior. Nicholas stood up and approached his table. One of the men had just finished asking a question concerning the role of a Griffin when the perturbed clanner came to a halt right in front of them.

Edited by SourKraut91, 12 March 2015 - 12:04 AM.

[plodder]

leaving the bar, Mr. Factor notice he was being watched. The eyes of the first waitress, sitting with someone he recognized, but sure someone he doesn't know... Wait, a changed look, but it's the man he met earlier, the one who told them of this bar. Moving towards the old man while glancing at the young lady, daring a gentle smile at her, he began to speak to the old man. Sir, I owe you a drink! This is a fine place and I thank you kindly for the advice to come here, for, it is exactly what I needed. No drink is too high priced, drink what you want! Thank you sir. So what shall it be sir, scotch, rye whiskey, bourbon, wine, vodka?
Pear beer, was the reply, and a word if you please?Shyly the girl slipped away, a smile and a nod as she left.
I have a proposition for you, but not here. In casual low tones he asked, "Can you meet me at the waterside dock tomorrow I have something to show you, and there are to many eyes here." Loudly and with a grateful grin, Bert spouted out, "Buy me a hard pear beer cider." Do not hang about he added softly. See you between 3 and 5 then, aye?
Surprised and confused, showing none off it, Ritz smiled and nodded, turning to the bar and the keep, ordering the strange drink, the leaving with a firm thank you again sir.
pondering, wondering, what will this be?
The cool night swallowed him, and he embraced the comforting coolness.

Bert had seen Mr. Factors credentials, had known the unit he had worked for, the family history behind the man. His family owed them an old debt, one he could pay in full, and it had cost him something dear, yet he paid it, if not gladly. Tomorrow then, oh, here comes my pear cider, delight after delight, and my sweet darling girl bringing it with a smile on her pretty face. A soft old man I am to her, and it gladdens my soul.

Edited by plodder, 22 April 2015 - 07:16 PM.

[Bill Bullet]

Kerensky's army huh? No wonder this planet is crawling with troops from all over the Inner Sphere, everyone and their uncle wants to get eyeballs on these "Clanners". But if they're as good as Mack says and their tech is even half as advanced as he's saying...With a sickening thud, the last pieces of the puzzle came together. The sudden reassignment of his command to a rookie officer, the transfer from one end of Lyran space to another, the endless stream of Dropships leaving...and the rarity of their return. The Irregulars were masters of fast raids for enemy technology and information, but completely inconsequential to the State and the well-being of the regular army. The words EXPENDABLE and ACCEPTABLE LOSSES ran an endless loop in his mind.

"How would Mack's Griffin and mine fit into the mix, as scouts?" Marc Campbell's question slowed the wheels turning in Bill's head, but it was the sudden arrival of the leather clad young man at the table that completely stopped them. The scowl on the lad's face spoke of violence and a not yet sober head. Seeing the bouncer drift by, Bill was struck by sudden inspiration. Mack had previously and tentatively identified the newcomer as one of the mysterious Clanners, and maybe it was the beer or the realization his unit might be going on a suicide mission, but Bill decided to test Mack's theory and raise a little hell.

"You know Mack, I think you may have just made a friend." Casually resting his feet up on the table, Bill took on the relaxed posture of a man about to watch a show. "It seems he's taken offense to your poor opinion of his alcohol tolerance." Hiding an impish grin behind his drink, Bill continued. "Or maybe he wishes to contest your theory that the descendants of Kerensky's army aren't invincible." And now for the coup de grace.... "But he's clearly itching for a fight and those cowards ran from the Inner Sphere at the first sign of trouble. No way he's a descendant from the same group."

No sooner had the words left Bill's mouth when a little voice in his head whispered "God DAMN but that kid is a lot bigger than me."

Edited by Bill Bullet, 14 March 2015 - 11:06 PM.

[xX PUG Xx]

Macks view was blocked by the leather clad form of the inebriated young warrior and all thought of the previous conversation left him; he listened to Bill Chambers needle the young man and wondered if the Lyran was looking at this as some kind of test. The way Bill sat back and relaxed obviously irritated the Clansman and he could tell from the tense stance and befuddled look of concentration that his mind was fighting a battle over his emotions. Addressing William Chambers without taking eyes from the Clanner, he said “A think yae might be right there Mr Chambers” bringing his full attention back to the Clan warrior he leaned forward slightly, bringing his head almost within arm’s reach. At the same time he raised both of his plate sized hands with the palms facing the youngster “Now laddie, a ken whits runnin’ through yer heed an’ ye dinnae want tae go there. The booze will mess wie yer judgement if yae’ll let it and wee daft comments’ll boil yer blood fur nothin’…” he could see the warrior grimace and for a moment Mack thought reason had won out but Bill continued “But he’s clearly itching for a fight and those cowards ran from the Inner Sphere at the first sign of trouble. No way he’s a descendant from the same group.”

‘Oh-oh’ Mack saw the flash in the young warrior’s eyes, the flare of indignation as emotion overcame reason. Thanks to the alcohol coursing through his blood stream, the man’s movement was a little sluggish and Mack could see the right cross coming before the fist had left his side. In one fluid motion, with a speed that anyone would have thought his massive bulk would not allow, Macks left hand gripped the approaching right wrist and pulled the drunken warrior around. At the same time he used the momentum and solid weight of the Clansman to lever his own body out of the seat and spin his assailant around to sit in the position he had just vacated. Obviously disorientated by the mix of rapid movement and alcohol the Clansman blinked rapidly for a second before snapping out an open palmed, left hand strike that caught Mack in the sternum and pushed him back half a step. ‘Jeez this laddie canna half hit wie a wallop, if he wis’nae drunk I might hae had a hard time wie him’

As he stepped back Mack released the Clansman’s wrist and settled into a relaxed side stance, ready to fend off another attack but just the right side of nonchalant for onlookers to think nothing untoward had happened.

[WustenFuchs1991]

Nicholas waited just long enough for his appearance to be registered before it was commented on. Not taking his eyes off the accented mechwarrior he still noticed the movement as one of the other men placed his feet up upon the table. Finding the gesture to be mildly insulting, Nicholas was willing to let it slide. That is until the man started talking. "You know Mack, I think you may have just made a friend." Nicholas did not need to look at him to notice the thick level of sarcasm that went along with this statement. It was only as he resolved to ignore the mans comments that the next little remark took on a far more insulting tone. "Or maybe he wishes to contest your theory that the descendants of Kerensky's army aren't invincible." It was at this moment that the accented mechwarrior raised his hands in an effort to placate the young warrior. “Now laddie, a ken whits runnin’ through yer heed an’ ye dinnae want tae go there. The booze will mess wie yer judgement if yae’ll let it and wee daft comments’ll boil yer blood fur nothin’…” Once his mind had finished processing what had been said, Nicholas found there to be a certain logic that caused him to calm slightly. Even if he still felt the need to defend his honour then it could be done through an impromptu Trial. Getting into a bar fight with this man would prove nothing regardless of the outcome. Sparing a quick sidelong glance at the smaller man with his feet up, he noticed a sly grin grace his features as he drew in yet another breath intended to deal the final verbal blow.

"But he's clearly itching for a fight and those cowards ran from the Inner Sphere at the first sign of trouble. No way he's a descendant from the same group."

Instead of confronting the smaller man, as he should have, Nicholas' eyes snapped back to the original source of his ire. The accented man. Furious beyond rational thought, his right arm snapped forward with the intent to knock a few teeth loose. What happened next though was something that Nicholas had not experienced since he was paired with an Elemental for martial training. Somehow he ended up sitting in a chair with his right wrist firmly held by the now standing mechwarrior. It was at this exact moment that a flood of adrenaline coursed through his system burning away the traces of alcohol that impaired his thoughts and movements, if only temporarily. Thrusting his left hand into the taller mans chest, he landed a solid blow that knocked him back and forced him to release the wrist he as holding. Nicholas had no illusion of an easy victory as the taller man fell into a relaxed but effective defensive posture. Finally able to think, somewhat, clearly he took stock in the current situation. He was fighting a man who had made a simple remark and allowed himself the be goaded into a fight by the smaller man. If anyone deserved to be drawn into a fight it was him. Slowly standing from the chair and assuming a wide low stance, Nicholas decided to speak with the man facing him. The slight accent of a clanner tinging his speech. "I am MechWarrior Nicholas of Clan Wolf. I will begin by apologizing for my brash actions. To be clear though, I have been insulted and do intend to defend my honour as such. As I did not engage you according to Zellbrigen I request Hegira so that we may discuss a proper method of diffusing this situation."

Fixing his gaze on the still relaxed man, he continued. "You however, will be dealt with separately. As I have not engaged you I can challenge you to a Trial of Grievance for your successful attempt at influencing me into a fight and for your remarks themselves."

Addressing them both again, Nicholas continued. "We are the Clans and we are indeed the children of Kerensky. The Great Father lead us on an exodus through the stars to protect us from the greed of the Successor States. Finally though, we have returned to the Inner Sphere in order to bring it out of this centuries old barbarism that it has been allowed to stagnate in since the fall of the Star League. We will bring peace and safety from the corrupt House Lords once we seize control of Terra and no one can stop us."

[Bill Bullet]

Bill slowly put his feet on the ground and drained the last of his beer. Then with deliberate care he placed the beer stein down and stood to face the young Clanner. So...this is the enemy that has the whole Inner Sphere running scared. Mustering all the dignity he could, Bill craned his neck back so he could look the Clanner in the eye instead of addressing his chest.

"I understood about half of what you said buster, but your meaning came through loud and clear. Yes, I did provoke you. The way I see it, MechWarrior has to know when to keep his cool and be able to control a situation." Never looking away from Nicholas, Bill pointed to Mack standing off to the side. "Mack as of this moment, if you wanna ride with the Irregulars you got a spot on my command lance. If I'm gonna be taking my people to face warriors like our friend Nicholas here, I want the kind of sonuvabitch who tough enough, smart enough, and lucky enough to live to tell the tale." Jerking his thumb over his shoulder to point at Marc, Bill continued. "Warlock, any man who can pull a blade outta thin air that fast and that sneaky the millisecond things go sour is also the kind of man I want riding with me."

Finally crossing his arms in front of him, Bill returned to addressing Nicholas. "I smeared your honor, no two ways about it. But in doing so I was able to assess the skills of these men in a hostile situation, and if they join me I have no doubt those skills will save the lives of my people in the future when they come up against your people. I owe you for that, Nicholas of Clan Wolf." Jutting his chin out and bracing his feet shoulder-width apart, Bill continued. "Planet I come from, when a man wants an apology he hits the other man 3 solid times." Bill saw a spark of confusion in the younger man's eyes but continued. "You knock me down in three punches, I'll apologize in front of this whole damn bar. If I keep standing, we all head out to the patio for some fresh air and you tell us how a Clan Wolf mechwarrior ended up in an Inner Sphere bar surrounded by the likes of us...barbarians."

[Thom Frankfurt]

"You know Mack, I think you may have just made a friend." Bill stated with just a trace of mirth upon his voice as a shadow suddenly befell upon his small group's table. Even as a sense of dread began to fill Marc, the Lyran officer sat back and hiked his boots up to place them upon the table, a mischievous smile threatening to crack upon his face.

"It seems he's taken offense to your poor opinion of his alcohol tolerance." Hiding an impish grin behind his drink, Bill continued. "Or maybe he wishes to contest your theory that the descendants of Kerensky's army aren't invincible... " The big Caledonian/Northwinder slowly rose to his feet and began muttering things to the drunken red faced youth in an attempt to defuse the situation even as the Lyran poured fuel onto the fire.

"...But he's clearly itching for a fight and those cowards ran from the Inner Sphere at the first sign of trouble. No way he's a descendant from the same group." Even as the last words left his mouth, Bill's bemused look slipped, giving Marc the impression of what the face of an EOD specialist must be a nano-second after realizing that he should have cut the red wire...

An explosion of movement, the Clanner lashed out at Mack with a sluggishly telegraphed punch, which the big man countered with a move that would impress any student of Aikido, depositing the outlandish youth in Mack's empty chair. Expecting that to be the end of it, Marc was caught totally off-guard by the youth growling like his clans namesake and sending out a powerful left that staggered the big man back several feet.

Reminded of the blood sport entertainment offered by the Caliphs of Astrokaszy, games where the spectators were just as likely to become unwilling contestant, Marc made a slight gesture with his right hand, a deft move that unslung the ceramic dagger hidden up his jacket's sleeve into his hand. A motion that throughout the years surprised many unfortunate adversary. And just like that, the fight was over, ending in an unsteady standoff with steely glares shot both ways. The Clanner broke the silence.

"I am MechWarrior Nicholas of Clan Wolf. I will begin by apologizing for my brash actions. To be clear though, I have been insulted and do intend to defend my honour as such. As I did not engage you according to Zellbrigen I request Hegira so that we may discuss a proper method of diffusing this situation."

Fixing his gaze on a still relaxed Bill, he continued. "You however, will be dealt with separately. As I have not engaged you I can challenge you to a Trial of Grievance for your successful attempt at influencing me into a fight and for your remarks themselves."

Addressing them both Mack and Bill again, the youth continued. "We are the Clans and we are indeed the children of Kerensky. The Great Father lead us on an exodus through the stars to protect us from the greed of the Successor States. Finally though, we have returned to the Inner Sphere in order to bring it out of this centuries old barbarism that it has been allowed to stagnate in since the fall of the Star League. We will bring peace and safety from the corrupt House Lords once we seize control of Terra and no one can stop us."

"And imagine I thought the Clans were just a bunch of militant animal rights activist that stumbled across a cache of lostech.." the Wallacian muttered under his breath.

"I understood about half of what you said buster, but your meaning came through loud and clear. Yes, I did provoke you. The way I see it, MechWarrior has to know when to keep his cool and be able to control a situation." Never looking away from Nicholas, Bill pointed to Mack standing off to the side. "Mack as of this moment, if you wanna ride with the Irregulars you got a spot on my command lance. If I'm gonna be taking my people to face warriors like our friend Nicholas here, I want the kind of sonuvabitch who tough enough, smart enough, and lucky enough to live to tell the tale." Suddenly jerking his thumb over his shoulder to point at him, Bill continued. "Warlock, any man who can pull a blade outta thin air that fast and that sneaky the millisecond things go sour is also the kind of man I want riding with me."

Suddenly aware of all the looks aimed his way and the six inches of dark ceramic blade in his hand, Marc chuckled nervously and returned it to it's sheath. He had the feeling that any illusion of him being a simple combat reporter were officially blown.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 19 March 2015 - 04:22 PM.

[WustenFuchs1991]

"I smeared your honor, no two ways about it. But in doing so I was able to assess the skills of these men in a hostile situation, and if they join me I have no doubt those skills will save the lives of my people in the future when they come up against your people. I owe you for that, Nicholas of Clan Wolf."

Nicholas watched as the smaller man took what resembled a defensive stance and continued.

"Planet I come from, when a man wants an apology he hits the other man 3 solid times."

Hearing this caused a moment of confusion in the young warrior. Was he stating that if he wanted his honour to be satisfied that he would need to strike him three times? Was this his bid in the Trial? Debating on whether or not to voice these questions, Nicholas was preempted by the desired explanation.

"You knock me down in three punches, I'll apologize in front of this whole damn bar. If I keep standing, we all head out to the patio for some fresh air and you tell us how a Clan Wolf mechwarrior ended up in an Inner Sphere bar surrounded by the likes of us...barbarians."

Ah, so that was the game. It was indeed a form of contest. In his mind, Nicholas found the particulars to be rather unfair. This man was almost fourteen inches shorter than himself and possibly a hundred pounds lighter. Hardly a fair contest. On the other hand, the smaller man had made his bid and seemed prepared to stand by it, such was his right. Nodding his head slowly, Nicholas prepared to begin simply offering the traditional "Well bargained and done."

Intending to end this quickly and as painlessly as possible, Nicholas' right armed exploded forward directly into the mans face. Or at least would have if he had not slightly bent his knees forcing the unreasonably tall warrior to hit him in the forehead. The smaller mans head snapped back with the force and quickly recovered. Rolling with the force as the taller warriors fist met his right cheek to soften the blow. It was at this moment that he was caught off guard as the right arm came up again and hit his still reeling face. The force of the punch spinning the small man on his heel.

As suddenly as it began it was over. The small MechWarrior had maintained his balance and consciousness long enough to stay standing through the onslaught. And with it his victory was assured. Nicholas, with a modicum of respect for the smaller man, bowed his head in recognition and walked out the door to the patio. Letting a small grin play across his features as he heard some mumbled words and the distinct sound of a man hitting the floor.

Edited by SourKraut91, 24 March 2015 - 11:50 AM.

[Bill Bullet]

No sooner had the Clanner said "...well done" his fists were flying. Seeing the first blow incoming Bill bent his knees and lowered his head so that the punched landed on the hard crown of his head. The second punch was a haymaker that came screaming in from the left. Just as it connected, Bill rolled his head to the right to soften the blow. Even so, stars exploded in front of his eyes from the force of the impact. Oh good, so instead of being hit by a train I got hit by a truck. Nicholas' last punch hit Bill so hard he felt the impact all the way down to his toes.

Blinking his eyes rapidly to clear away the small galaxy exploding in front of them, Bill smiled his victory at Nicholas who in turn bowed his head in grudging respect. It was a trick he'd pulled a hundred times in a hundred different bars. Taught to box from a young age Bill knew how to weave and absorb punches from even the best. But this Nicholas kid was FAST and may as well have been forged from iron. Jeez and there's a couple thousand more like him waiting out there.

Bill slowly lowered his head till he was staring at the ground, easing out the kinks in his neck. Good lord that boy is TALL some people have all the genetic luck. "Is the kid out the door yet Mack?" Bill muttered. "Aye William that he is, why-" Bill interrupted him with a hand on his shoulder. "Warlock, your first order is to go out there, and keep that lad talking. Find out everything you can about the Clans. He'll probably open up if you share a war story or two with him.....Now, Mack pay attention cause this is important....catch me."


And with that, the last thought in Bill's brain turned out the lights as his unconscious body crashed to the floor.

Edited by Bill Bullet, 24 March 2015 - 05:18 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Stifling a nervous laugh, Marc continued to squirm under the unwanted attention aimed his way. The awkward moment's slowly passed with the only sound Marc being aware of was the sound of his blood pounding in his ears to the point where the bar's patrons finally began to loose interest in him and focus on more interesting things, namely a stand off between Mr. Bullet in the Chamber and the Young Wolf Warrior.

The two seemed to be sizing each other up, squaring up, tensing muscle, the Wolf's eyes burned even as the Lyran countered the blazng look with his own frosty cool glare. "...well done" fists were flying. Seeing the first blow incoming Bill bent his knees and lowered his head so that the punched landed on the hard crown of his head. The second punch was a haymaker that came screaming in from the left. Just as it connected, Bill rolled his head to the right to soften the blow. Even so, stars exploded in front of his eyes from the force of the impact.

The motions, the movements, well practiced and flawlessly applied, by both attacker and defender. Savage punches that Jubal and the Thug-Lady herself would be hard pressed to defend against, crashed against Bill's own stalwart defenses, a tilting of the head, a twisting of one's posture, testaments to some time spent in a gymnasium duking it out with someone.

The exchange ended with an unsteady, if respectful truce. The Wallacian squinted and took another pull from his mug-gone-pitcher as the Clanner nodded respectfully to the grinning glassed over eyed, Bill before silently heading for the covered veranda outside.

"Is the kid out the door yet Mack?" the Lyran muttered. "Aye William that he is, why-" Bill interrupted Mack's reply with a hand on his shoulder. "Warlock,"

Oh now what?

"Your first order is to go out there," the Lyran continued. "And keep that lad talking. Find out everything you can about the Clans. He'll probably open up if you share a war story or two with him.....Now, Mack pay attention cause this is important....catch me."

What?! Why me?! Marc cast a nervous look toward the wrap around patio, to the gray leather clad figure standing at a parade rest gazing off towards the lights of downtown. Nodding silently Marc took up his mug and headed for the door, pausing as Bill's knees finally turned to watch and consciousness fled him, collapsing to the floor in a heap. 'Warlock' paused to sigh before pushing open the plasteel door to join the vat-brat.

"You know... that was an impressive display back there. You one of those armored infantrymen I keep hearing about?" He offered as way of greeting, trying to ignore the withering look the Wolf was shooting his way.. "It reminded me of this one time when I was on Astrokaszy..."

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 06 April 2015 - 06:10 PM.

[Faith McCarron]

The Watering Hole
Free Rasalhague Republic
6 April, 3050

Faith slid the empty glass towards the bartender without looking up. "Your Scotch sucks, brah". She didn't pay a whole lot of attention to his response, but after a few seconds of silence, she shot a glance his way. He did not seem impressed. "Look, I have the letters 'Mc' in my name, take it from me." she paused for a moment before going on, "Just switch me to shots, something strong. Taste doesn't matter."

"I'm probably going to regret this, but make that two, and put the rest of the night on my tab" At the sound of the voice, she turned her head to see her XO slide onto the stool next to her. His face still showed the campaign stubble from their last engagement, but his eyes hinted that he was at least partially refreshed.

"Even with a head start, I can still drink you under the table, Ace," she responded coyly. The truth was she didn't have that much of a head start, she had nursed the first two bad scotches, but her mood hadn't improved. The fight still weighed heavily on her.

"Always a competition with you, isn't it?" In any other context, she might have taken the comment as a challenge, but the wry smile in the corner of his mouth, as well as their years on the battlefield together told her that he was here to help, and not to fight. And the truth of the matter was that she had enough fighting, at least for a few days.

"That's why I'm good." She considered her words for a moment before continuing. "It's also why I'm better than you." This time it was her turn to show a hint of a smile to let him know that for once, she wasn't looking for a scrap.

The bartender placed two shot glasses of clear liquid down on the bar in front of them. They each took their glass, gestured to each other, and then downed the shot. She didn't know what it was, but the bartender had more than honored her request. The liquid had absolutely no smoothness to it, all bite. It burned her throat as it went down, and in spite of her trying to fight it back, she sputtered a slight cough, feeling the burn all over again, almost as if the liquid had vaporized and was still hiding in her throat and sinuses, trying to maintain it's torment for as long as possible. Ace chuckled at her. "I dont know what that was, but I thought you were more of a pro when it came to swallowing."

She punched him on the shoulder, playfully, but still hard. "If you're making childish jokes, it's because you're trying to be disarming. We've known each other too long to play that game. Spit it out." She locked eyes with him, hoping that he would flinch first, but he didn't.

"You don't normally get trashed after a fight. This isn't like you. At the very least, you're normally out partying and living the life. Wallowing in a dive...that's not your style. So something has you spooked. And anything bad enough to spook you, has me worried. So share."

She was the one to break the glance first. He was right, of course. Annoyingly right. Normally she would be out riding the high of victory. That meant a night on the town, dancing, partying, drugs and sex. This bar was about as far from that as you could get. She didn't know anyone here well enough to try to score a high, and space vikings weren't her idea of the proper cast for a sex party.

"I thought I was ready for these Clans, but I don't know. I just don't know what to make of them." She waved her hand in the direction of Walt, signaling her desire for another round of whatever the shots were for her and Ace. "They're not like anyone I've ever fought before."

Ace shrugged. "They're advanced technologically. A martial society. Aggressive. They don't seem to have much use for politics. They're about the polar opposite of Davion in that last part."

She shook her head dismissively. "No no, I know all that. But it's not what I mean." Walt brought their drinks, and they both dutifully downed their shots. The second shot was a little easier than the first, and knowing what was coming allowed her to brace herself against the burn and back vapor. There was no cough or sign of weakness from her this time. "With Davion it's straightforward, they're the bad guys trying to take our toys so we have to kick them where it hurts. With these guys.....I dont know, it's different. It's more like it was on Solaris for me. It's like a contest of wills. A struggle of competitors. A bloodsport. It's.....it's invigorating in ways that.....well damnit, it shouldn't be."

She had allowed her anger to show a little bit, and Ace had picked up on it. "Look, Faith, you're a warrior, but you're also a competetor. It's what gives you your edge. There's nothing wrong with that." He put his hand on her back as he tried to reassure her.

"But it's more than that. We're fighting for people's homes here, for their lives. We're fighting for their way of life. It should be...., I don't know, more somber than this. But this....fighting these clans, it's like a high. It's like I'm playing a high stakes game, and damn, do I love it. But I shouldn't. People are dying. Half of those guys I fought beside these last few weeks are in pine boxes now, and I rode it all like a wave, a high, a climax."

"You don't need to feel guilty for surviving."

She shook her head and almost laughed. "That's just it. I don't feel guilty for surviving, or winning, or any of that. I feel guilty because I've loved every minute of it. And I worry....I worry that maybe it makes me too much like them..."

[WustenFuchs1991]

The night air was something of a refresher. As he walked onto the patio, Nicholas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The calm that swept over him as the adrenaline and the last of the alcohol left his system left him in a relaxed state. Leaning back on his heels with his hands clasped together on the small of his back. One could easily be forgiven for assuming that he was standing in a military posture when the large man was simply enjoying the evening breeze.

The slight creak of the patio door followed by very quiet footfalls was the only indication that his short lived privacy was no longer his alone. Nicholas remained quiet as he awaited his new companion speak. Not one to disappoint the quiet one who fancied himself something of a roguish type broke the silence.

"You know... that was an impressive display back there. You one of those armored infantrymen I keep hearing about?"

Casting a baleful glance down at the man next to him he finally got a full glance at the third man who had somehow managed to escape his notice for so long. Something about this man set him on edge though and he was not able to pin it, at least not until he kept speaking

"It reminded me of this one time when I was on Astrokaszy..."

In a flash the young warrior placed all the pieces together. Though it was not mandatory, Nicholas had made a point to try and memorize as many worlds as he could before the invasion and deciding to do so in alphabetic order made the mention of Astrokaszy rather easy to remember. A Periphery world of some acclaim due to its mineral deposits there is little else worth mention. It's political structure is inept with constant warring factions vying for power over one another. This has created a hotbed where anything and anyone can be bought and sold. Needless to say, unless you were born there, there are only a few reasons one would willingly travel there many of which are for the morally corrupt. Next is this mans constant state of paranoia along with the constant attempts to avoid direct scrutiny. These combined would make most people pause and question but this clanner had one more bit of knowledge that the others did not have. He had met many men like this before. Not in the Inner Sphere but in the Periphery, particularly in the Oberon Confederation. Men who fought because they wanted to protect their ill gotten gains. Pirates. Was this man beside him one of them? No one could say so with certainty but it was what the clanner was going to stick with for now. releasing himself from his own thoughts, Nicholas began listening to the mans story.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[Edit: Tied to have Marc note upon Nick's reactions to contractions and family references]

Just what the Hell was that look for? Marc thought as the youth's stony visage slipped, if only for a second before returning to MechWarrior Nickolas 'Heart of Steel' of Clan Wolf again. If Marc had to take a guess, he'd have to say it was some mixture of considering and disgust. Perhaps he should elaberate? Maybe the desert world's ill repute caused the odd look?

"I was freshly out of my second tour with the Hussars and finding myself a bit disgusted with the ever constant turmoil in the League and still of able body, foolishly decided to sign up with some band of D-Rated mercs that were heading out that way. It was awful. First, the Union we were being transported in was some relic that hadn't been serviced since probably your great grand-daddy's day, next the Helium seals on the Megellan class we were riding on blew, leaving us stranded for almost a month off of Bismark. Sh*t, that whole journey sucked ass. But anyways, where was I?" Marc paused to look towards the lights of downtown, taking in the neon wonders advertising apple wine, local beers, and Iron Lung cigarettes.

I wonder why he cringed when I said Great Grand-Daddy's day? Family is a touchy subject with this one?

"Oh yeah. So we finally get there after forever, and when we get insystem we start getting hailed by every clump of 'crete and adobe shack dirtside even worth the name of a population center." Marc suddenly rolled back on his heels and sighed heavily with a bewildered look upon his face. "Come fight for us. Fight for us, we need you, Fight for us! it seemed everyone begged and pleaded for our services willing to outbid each other, it was chaotic and, um... tiresome. But anyways we decided to land outside of the capitol, ah, Shervanis City, being that it was the only thing that rock has to a HPG facility. Well once there the local Caliph, I'm not even going to try pronouncing his name, held a banquet in our honor, complete with belly dancers and blood sport."

Now what was that flinch for? Marc thought before continuing on.

"And that brings me to my point, that spectacle of aikido from the big man in there, with your lightning fast strikes reminded me of the...spectacle the Caliph offered us. One was a giant of a man, maybe a couple hand widths taller than you and.." Marc rolled back on his heel fixing the Clanner with a measuring look. "Maybe 4 stone heavier. Nasty fellow, black pits for eyes, covered with wiry black hair and missing his tongue. The other a scrawny fossil of a man, Capellan. His strikes were very precise and oh, devastating." Marc rolled back on his heels and laughed. "That little slant, why he whooped that big guys ass like a red-headed stepson."

Again the flinch... why?

"But the thing with the chair, reminded me of it somehow." The Wallacian shrugged like that explained it all. "Well, what about you, Mr. Wolf? Got any war stories? Say, is it true what I heard that Ole' Natasha K is ah, well, you know... a clanner?"

Hopefully that works....

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 09 April 2015 - 01:31 AM.