128 replies to this topic

[dal10]

once dal10 is less depressed by the destruction of his rum he walks up to the bartender. "mind if i get another jug of rum? the jackasses who started the bar fight broke mine... also Mr. Owen said we could drink up on his tab."

The bartender looked angry "why in the world should i get you more alcohol after you damn mercs showed up, acted like you owned the place, attacked one of my bouncers, and started to destroy my bar. look at that table, that is made of petrified wood. 500 c-bills a pound. AND NOW WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO REPLACE IT. so no you merc ******* i am not going to give you more rum."

"i would point out the quicker we get our booze and briefing the faster we get out of here. plus i am one of the mercs who has not done anything to damage your establishment. i even asked your bouncer politely if i could come in. so please don't lump me in with the other guys who decided to start a fight."

"fine..." he said with a sigh. "i will get you your damn rum, anything else?"

"yeah, you got any 180 proof whiskey?"

The bartender returns with a 2 gallon jug of rum, and a quart bottle of whiskey. dal10 stuffs the whiskey in a belt underneat his cloak and returns to stand next to the rest of the group with the rum in his hands.

[Vodkavaiator]

Remi stood next to table with a look of both utter despair and barely contained anger on his face. Sorrowfully he bent down to pick up the now broken bottle of New Oslo Bourbon which he then held mournfully in his hands as he shook his head slowly from side to side
.
"A bloody ******* disgrace," Rudbeck began angrily, his right hand tightening into a ball as he momentarily considered pulling his pistol and dispatching the parties responsible for the aforementioned atrocity. "What sort of degenerates would waste whiskey such as this?"

The former pirate practically radiated hate as his eyes swept across the bar looking for anyone to hold accountable and finally settled on the two new arrivals, who appeared to be the cause of the small altercation. Considering the fact that the entire bar was looking at them with a mix of anger, horror, disgust and amusement at least. Despite the temptation for revenge, Rudbeck kept himself under control. The situation was bad enough as it was, he had no intention of making it worse.

Although engaged in this internal debate Rudbeck remained alert to any further inconveniences, maintaining a watchful eye on the both the recent acquaintances and the shocked patrons in the bar. As he looked over to the other members of the Quartet he saw Nikoli gesturing towards the side.

"I say old chap, who invited these rather rude fellows?" Rudbeck began moving to stand next to Nikoli creating a healthy distance between them and the other mercenaries. The increasingly hostile looks the other patrons of the bar now showed towards the mercenaries convincing him that it was high time to demonstrate that he had nothing to do with the two bar room brawlers.

Without turning to face Nikoli, Rudbeck spoke quietly so that only the other members of the Quartet could hear him, "Naturally, I elected to bring my arms to this meeting, would you like me to ensure that our two new "friends" do not cause any further offense? I find that high velocity projectiles can solve even the most heated disputes..."

Edited by Vodkavaiator, 01 August 2012 - 07:35 PM.

[Rasengetsu]

Location: Rancher’s Council Club, Baker’s Stake
Date: August 19, 3044
Local Time: 18.50 hours

It took everything for Revin to stay calm and not participate in the bar fight. Indeed, during normal times he would have jumped in and fought like his life was on the line, as he loves brawls. But, now wasn't the time. Not only was he in the presence of two women, he was sitting next to his employer and he just couldn't afford to ruin his chances with either of them.

As the fight went on, he simply sat where he was, dodging the glasses and bottles flying about. Unfortunately, he only barely evaded one of the alcohol containers and lost his cigar to it, however much he hated not doing anything he needed to stay calm and let it slide. One a side note, if anything had ever hit him upside the head he probably would have murdered whoever threw the item in question. To stay relaxed, Keed took out one of his higher quality cigars, which were only ever used on rare occasions, and lit it up. Good thing for him though, he had already drank his drink when the bodies came gliding across the table. Much to his amusement, Sierra was under said table, which gave him a massive nostalgic feeling of the good old days, during gunfights and several "'other things'".

[The Outlaw Kazzen]

Suring the confusion Kazzen had slipped away to the men's room where he removed his helmet to finally down his drink. After a brief moment to wash his face he placed his helmet back on, complete with bandana and cowboy hat. He then opened the door to the bar to find a fight going down. Instead of joining in, Kazzen turned right back around and picked up a magazine to read on the canwhile he waited fro the excitment to go down.

[Sparks Murphey]

As the fight settled down, Nikoli caught Sierra’s eye and gestured her over. She crawled from under the table, leaving Dirk to his sketching.

Vodkavaiator, on 01 August 2012 - 06:52 PM, said:

Without turning to face Nikoli, Rudbeck spoke quietly so that only the other members of the Quartet could hear him, "Naturally, I elected to bring my arms to this meeting, would you like me to ensure that our two new "friends" do not cause any further offense? I find that high velocity projectiles can solve even the most heated disputes..."

His hand drifted to where she knew his concealed pistol lay in wait. She rested her own hand lightly on his forearm.

“Don’t. This place is a powderkeg. They’ve already raised it from swapping stories to swapping punches. Let’s not add to that, and hope it’s just the coppers who turn up and not whatever passes for the military round here."

Edited by Sparks Murphey, 01 August 2012 - 08:54 PM.

[The Outlaw Kazzen]

In the bathroom...


Kazzen casually flips to the next page.


"Hello Miss August..." His voice said over the crackling static of his helmet voice filter.

[Xinaoen]

An inscrutable expression sat on Jean's face as he stared silently at the shattered bottle of New Oslo Special Reserve. His eyes found their way to Chris Dezene's, and for a moment Jean's face looked as if he was considering choking the newcomer. Instead he doubled over, laughing uncontrollably. Tears of laughter were streaming down his face by the time he'd regained his composure.

"I deserved that," Jean sighed. "I really did. 'The roughest band of outlaws' indeed."

He wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling softly to himself as he did so. Then he stood, donning both his hat and a businesslike expression as he did so.

"I believe that a change of scene is in order," Jean announced. "I've had my fun, and we've worn out our welcome. Let's get out of here before the militia shows up."

---

Some time later, the group had reconvened at a more suitable location: a working-class bar and grill called The Cold Shoulder. To someone unfamiliar with local politics, it would've been amazing that such a place could exist only a few blocks from the Council Club. Thick cigar smoke wafted through a handful of bullet holes in the bar's plate glass facade. The inside looked as if barroom brawls were a nightly occurrence here, and it didn't look as if anyone ever tried to repair any of the subsequent damage. There were only a handful of bedraggled patrons within, and all of them seemed eager to mind their own business.

What the establishment lacked in class, it made up for with a good selection of beers on tap and the freshest steaks in the sector. Once everyone had been seated and accommodated, Jean seemed to decide that it was finally time to get to business.

"No doubt you're all wondering why I've asked you here," he drawled. "Before I get into the specifics, there are a few key things that I'd like to have understood."

"First off, I'll be in command of this mission. Mr. Reznov will be serving as second-in-command, at his pleasure."

Jean's attitude of charm and hospitality disappeared in an instant.

"Failure to comply with the chain of command will constitute a breach of contract," he stated flatly. "Disobey a direct order, and your pay will be suspended. Zero tolerance; no exceptions."

Jean's icy demeanor vanished just as quickly as it had arrived, and he smiled cordially once again.

"Anyone who can't deal with that will have to accept my standing offer of free drinks as my condolences for having wasted his or her time," he purred.

Jean took a drink from his own glass before continuing, as if steeling himself to deliver the next part of his briefing.

"This operation will be risky," he admitted. "Lucrative, potentially, but risky. That's the second point to cover. An elite House unit will be our opponents. They won't go down easily, they won't surrender, and it's not unlikely that they'll take a few of us with them even if we succeed. The people whose toes we'll be stomping on have very long memories, and they know a lot of nasty ways to take out a grudge. And we'll be stomping hard."

Jean paused a moment to make sure that his words had hit their mark, and then continued.

"If we fail, there's a good chance that those of us who aren't killed in our cockpits will be summarily executed. If we succeed, those of us who survive will be splitting a nine-figure sum."

A slow grin spread across Jean's face.

"Five hundred and seventy million C-Bills," he said. "There's an outside chance that a few additional assets will be joining us on-site; even so, we'll be splitting that figure no more than twelve times. Assuming that we all make it back alive, that's 47.5 million apiece, plus salvage. All for a bit of risk and a few hours of your time."

Jean stood, stretched, and yawned.

"My tab will be open all night," he announced. "Food and drinks are on me; I've also taken the liberty of getting each of you a room upstairs for the night. Those of you who're interested in my offer can meet me here tomorrow morning, 09:00 sharp. We'll discuss the details at that time."

Jean reached down to grab his drink, finished it in a gulp, and then gave the assembled mercenaries a cordial bow.

"With that, I'm off to bed," he said. "Don't have too much fun without me."

Edited by Xinaoen, 01 August 2012 - 10:57 PM.

[dal10]

(take two less demigod like.)

Dal10 smiled at the news of the payment. That much cash would be enough to forge a new identity for him. he could finally stop running from the dracs who were trying to kill him and rejoin his unit. at this he remembered the last time he saw the assassins around 6 months and 3 planets ago. that attempt nearly, and should have, killed him. they managed to corner him in a small warehouse on the edge of a city with a security camera set up over the main warehouse, which is how he saw what had happened.

there were 4 of them visible, but he knew there was at least one other nearby. with both blades drawn he knew he could take at least 2, though 4 was a stretch. lucky for him they seemed willing to come at him one of the time. the first one was reckless. he charge at Dal10 like he could easily dispatch him. dal10 took 2 quick steps and jumped into a somersault. he was barely a quarter of the way through it when his katana clashed with his assailant. the extra force on his lower legs from his knee hitting the back of his katana let him get his wakazhasi around fast enough to impale the smaller man in the back, catching him right through the heart. with one assailant down 2 more of them moved in towards dal10 in unison. Dal10 could tell from their stances they were more experienced than the first man. that made him guess that the last one was the best of their number. he traded blows with them for several minutes, the entire time wondering what they were planning.

Eventually they left themselves open with an attempt for a double sweeping strike on him. he dropped down underneat the blows and then dal10 took one of his throwing metal cards and managed to bury it in the throat of the woman while managing to sink his katana in the stomach of the man dropping his wakazhasi in the process. then he knew it was time to face the last one. unlike the last 3 this man was wearing a fully sealed helmet that would protect him from any of the tricks dal10 had left up his sleeve. after 15 minutes of slowly losing ground to the superior swordsman, dal10 finally found out what the quartet of assassins were stalling for. a series of explosions went off around the warehouse.

the ******** tried to bring the building down on top of him. as he realized this the assassin managed to land a hit on the side of his knee though it was too shallow to sever the limb. but it left dal10 with no way to get out of the warehouse before it collapsed on top of him. it took them nearly a day for him to be dug out, and he was barely alive. he had been peppered with shrapnel from the metal roof of the building. and something from one of the shelves had hit him on the head, leaving him amnesiac. the doctors only knew who he was by the dog tags around his neck. his ribcage was badly beaten up, with the sternum shattered and the rest of it in not much better shape.

A NAIS medical team on planet managed to save him though. with the damage to his muscles from shrapnel and falling debris they were forced to replace a significant amount of his musculature with myomer, though the head doctor decided to use experimental TSM fibers instead of normal surgical myomer. with the addition of some small sugar powered heat generators to warm up the myomer to the point it would go to full strength. these are controlled by a small radio transmitter that can be activated by little remote attacked to his dog tags. to better protect his sternum while it heals they placed a metal plate onto it.

as he finished reminiscing about what he could do with the money, dal10 says "so what would you guys do with all that cash?

Edited by dal10, 02 August 2012 - 10:07 AM.

[ChaosGrinder]

The change of establishment was welcomed by her. She hated to hide her revolver beneath her Jacket but at the Cold Shoulder there was no need to do so. This was a place she was more familar with. She ordered a pint of beer and something to eat and listened to Jean. Hard, he said. Difficult he said. She knew how difficult missions could get. Her only problem was that so called "Chain of command". She usually did not obey any commands. She did it her way and if anyone would hat a problem with that .. it was his problem, not hers.

But the payment washed that all away. 47 million bucks. That was more she could ever dream of. " Holy cow, that´s quite a sh*tload of money", was all she could say.

" Tomorrow 9, allright. " she pulled out a small book and a pencil and scribbled something into it.

Pulling out another cigaret she leaned back and thought about the money. Maybe a house somewhere by the sea, a boat and lots of time. Or she´d get herself a gold plated Atlas. Just because she could.

[The Outlaw Kazzen]

Kazzen finally decided to get up and opened the bathroom door again to find that the party had moved on and the place was full of local authorities.

Escape plan B was in order...

Improvise.

The masked outlaw slid open the bathroom window and made his masterful escape and he even took the magazine just in case.

Now to find where everyone went...

[dal10]

Dal10 slipped out to get stuff from his previous hotel room since he had. as he was was leaving the cold shoulder he saw the guy in the full body suit. He walks up to him, tells him where everyone.is, then dal10 hands him a small remote control with a few small spidery looking robots while saying "use these if the drawing guy starts obsessing over your suit. he won't be able to resist messing with them. that way he doesn't inquire into all of the metallic stuff i am bring from my hotel room. one of my duffels clanks..." then walks off to his hotel to get his stuff.

Edited by dal10, 02 August 2012 - 07:01 AM.

[The Outlaw Kazzen]

The masked utlaw merely shrugged and continued to his new destination. It took only a second to find the Cold Shoulder.

"Howdy yall. What I miss?"

[Thom Frankfurt]

Sparks Murphey, on 01 August 2012 - 08:54 PM, said:

As the fight settled down, Nikoli caught Sierra’s eye and gestured her over. She crawled from under the table, leaving Dirk to his sketching.


Redbeck's hand drifted to where she knew his concealed pistol lay in wait. Sierra rested her own hand lightly on his forearm.

“Don’t. This place is a powderkeg. They’ve already raised it from swapping stories to swapping punches. Let’s not add to that, and hope it’s just the coppers who turn up and not whatever passes for the military round here."

Nikoli nodded as the words of wisdom fell from Sierra's mouth. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right.

"Little Sierra is right, brother. Now is not the time nor place.."

Some other time... He told himself, smiling as numerous scenarios of the duo's demise played out in his mind. His current fave involved them locking themselves in their cockpits only to find out they were sharing the 'pit with a nest of highly poisionous pit vipers.

Unexpectantly their gracious well dressed host doubled over laughing in a hysterical fit with tears streaming down his face. The man quickly regained his composure though, and addressed them all, even the two idiots who started the fight.

"I deserved that," Jean sighed. "I really did. 'The roughest band of outlaws' indeed."

He wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling softly to himself as he did so. Then he stood, donning both his hat and a businesslike expression as he did so.

"I believe that a change of scene is in order," Jean announced. "I've had my fun, and we've worn out our welcome. Let's get out of here before the militia shows up."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A shorttime later Nikoli found himself sitting in the rough and tumble grillhouse known as 'The Cold Shoulder.' tearing into a twentytwo ounce rib-eye smothered in sauteed onions and mushrooms. A warped looking ceiling fan stirred the thick pall of cigar smoke as the assembled group of misfits also busied themselves with food or drink. Leaning back in the highly uncomfortable chair, Nik took a sip from his ginger ale (yeah that's right, ginger ale!)

Xinaoen, on 01 August 2012 - 10:56 PM, said:

"No doubt you're all wondering why I've asked you here," he drawled. "Before I get into the specifics, there are a few key things that I'd like to have understood."

"First off, I'll be in command of this mission. Mr. Reznov will be serving as second-in-command, at his pleasure."

Jean's attitude of charm and hospitality disappeared in an instant.

"Failure to comply with the chain of command will constitute a breach of contract," he stated flatly. "Disobey a direct order, and your pay will be suspended. Zero tolerance; no exceptions."

Jean's icy demeanor vanished just as quickly as it had arrived, and he smiled cordially once again.

"Anyone who can't deal with that will have to accept my standing offer of free drinks as my condolences for having wasted his or her time," he purred.

Jean took a drink from his own glass before continuing, as if steeling himself to deliver the next part of his briefing.

"This operation will be risky," he admitted. "Lucrative, potentially, but risky. That's the second point to cover. An elite House unit will be our opponents. They won't go down easily, they won't surrender, and it's not unlikely that they'll take a few of us with them even if we succeed. The people whose toes we'll be stomping on have very long memories, and they know a lot of nasty ways to take out a grudge. And we'll be stomping hard."

Jean paused a moment to make sure that his words had hit their mark, and then continued.

"If we fail, there's a good chance that those of us who aren't killed in our cockpits will be summarily executed. If we succeed, those of us who survive will be splitting a nine-figure sum."

A slow grin spread across Jean's face.

"Five hundred and seventy million C-Bills," he said. "There's an outside chance that a few additional assets will be joining us on-site; even so, we'll be splitting that figure no more than twelve times. Assuming that we all make it back alive, that's 47.5 million apiece, plus salvage. All for a bit of risk and a few hours of your time."

Jean stood, stretched, and yawned.

"My tab will be open all night," he announced. "Food and drinks are on me; I've also taken the liberty of getting each of you a room upstairs for the night. Those of you who're interested in my offer can meet me here tomorrow morning, 09:00 sharp. We'll discuss the details at that time."

Jean reached down to grab his drink, finished it in a gulp, and then gave the assembled mercenaries a cordial bow.

"With that, I'm off to bed," he said. "Don't have too much fun without me."

Nikoli's mind raced. Second in Command of this bunch of slackjaws? He cast a mischivious grin the direction of the two who started the fight earlier, but stopped as the Capellan's mind worked on other details of his host's speech. An elitle House unit, well which House? Jean looked Asian, and had the habit of rolling his L's when he wasn't paying attention.. A Kurita Unit? But then again, if he even was a Kurita he may take perverse pleasure in sticking it to the Davies or Lyrans... His mind listed out elite units from those two houses as well...

But for 47.5 million C-bills he'd charge a mech regiment, barefoot, armed with nothing but a can opener and a satchel charge.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 02 August 2012 - 01:50 PM.

[Rasengetsu]

Revin knew that larger amounts usually meant riskier jobs, but for him risky simply meant fun. True, it was a very large pile of cash, but the real question is: would his employer actually pay up? A whopping 47.5 million C-bills is a large sum indeed and he could probably retire from this line of work for a long time, but why should he when he actually enjoys it? After "careful consideration" (not even), he stood up without a sound or word and went upstairs to his room for some rest.

Edited by Rasengetsu, 02 August 2012 - 03:38 PM.

[ChaosGrinder]

After the first guys decided to call it a day and retreated to bed, the night started for her. She combed her hair with her fingers, stretched and ordered a pint of dark, strong beer. Lighting her last cigaret she looked around.

" What 'Mechs did you bring to the fight ?" she asked casualy , concentrating on the flame of her petrol lighter.

[Sparks Murphey]

Sierra ordered a bowl of fries and a scotch and cola from the bar, and sat down to watch Nikoli. He had that far-off stare he got when he was being intently tactical, likely thinking through all the possibilities that Owen might have in store for them. She’d pestered him with questions before, up until an op on Kinkaid II, where he’d started actively jamming her comm channel and told her that she’d know when he was good and ready to tell her. She’d learnt to wait since then.

The other woman, Spitfire, came up to the bar and ordered a pint.

ChaosGrinder, on 02 August 2012 - 03:55 PM, said:

"What 'Mechs did you bring to the fight?" she asked casualy, concentrating on the flame of her petrol lighter.

Sierra shrugged. “Me, I drive a Trebuchet. Tweaked it a bit, so it’s more of a skirmisher than a support ‘Mech. Nikoli does our scouting and operations management from his...well, technically, its still a Chameleon chassis, but most of the internals are from somewhere else. Remi has a Griffin, again, tweaked to be more of a front line ‘Mech than a supporter. Dirk provides most of our supporting fire from his Helepolis. Uh, it’s an ancient artillery ‘Mech he excavated and managed to put back together.”

She carefully bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t gone too far. The Helepolis wasn’t really worth that much as a unit, but it could fetch a bit of cash if sold to a collector. Blabbing about it to people known to be on the shady side of the law probably wasn’t the best plan, just in case.

“So, what about you? What are you bringing?”

[Thom Frankfurt]

Nikoli waited a bit staring into the depths of of his glass, a nice burgandy wine whos color reminded him of pooling blood. Finally after what he deemed a respectable about of time he pulled out a noteputer from the inner pocket of his jacket. He then went to make his rounds asking the remaining soldiers of fortune about what toys they brought to the op. He hoped that the mercs had consumed enough booze and dimwitted enough to tell the truth. He desided to ask the woman warrior before she drank herself silly.

ChaosGrinder, on 02 August 2012 - 03:55 PM, said:

" What 'Mechs did you bring to the fight ?" she asked casualy , concentrating on the flame of her petrol lighter.

The dark haired girl who went my 'Spitfire' asked while speaking into the flame from her lighter. He barely made out the question, but he didn't have to strain his ears to hear Sierra's reply

Sparks Murphey, on 02 August 2012 - 08:31 PM, said:

Sierra shrugged. “Me, I drive a Trebuchet. Tweaked it a bit, so it’s more of a skirmisher than a support ‘Mech. Nikoli does our scouting and operations management from his...well, technically, its still a Chameleon chassis, but most of the internals are from somewhere else. Remi has a Griffin, again, tweaked to be more of a front line ‘Mech than a supporter. Dirk provides most of our supporting fire from his Helepolis. Uh, it’s an ancient artillery ‘Mech he excavated and managed to put back together.”

“So, what about you? What are you bringing?”

"Yes Miss Spitfire, what have you brought to our little party?" He asked while looking at Sierra. He plopped out the noteputer to start entering in data. As good as his memory was, it wasn't totally photographic, so he'd propbably/most likely have to enter in the data on all the mechs and custom variants the group may have brought with them. It would also ease any future headaches by knowing what exact calibur of autocannon rounds would be needed, and how many tons of X type of armor. He already felt a headache comming on as he began reliving the logistic classes he took at Sian University.

[ChaosGrinder]

Sparks Murphey, on 02 August 2012 - 08:31 PM, said:

[...]
. Dirk provides most of our supporting fire from his Helepolis. Helepolis. Helepolis.
[...]
“So, what about you? What are you bringing?”

" Awhawhawahwait. You want to tell me you buddy dug out one of those old walkers ? " she said with big eyes. " I´m officially jelly of him, lucky *******. Damn lucky *******. Anyway, i´m here with my trusty Atlas. Modified it a bit to fit 20 tons of armor, a fifth medium laser and an AMS. It´s that big black rock standing in Hangar bay 15. "

She still was kind of gobsmacked from the Helepolis. She always wanted to see one, now she had the chance to even see it in action. Her inner child rejoiced at the houghts of seing the artillery mech steamrolling stuff.

[Thom Frankfurt]

What, 19 tons of armor weren't enough?

Nikoli chuckled inwardly at that thought. But all sarcasim aside, he was kind of grateful to have an assult mech with them, especially an Atlas. He never really understood why most mechwarriors when all googlyeyed over the hundred ton behemoths, he thought of them as slow moving targets, capable of taking ungodly amounts of punishment. And that would be shots not fired his way.

He typed in the data that Spitfire provided, he'd go to check out the assault mech the next day.

On and on he went from merc to merc jotting down their info, call signs, mech designs and which variant of said design they were and where their mechs were being stowed.

[ChaosGrinder]

" Hey, don´t laugh, that extra ton of armor got me through on one piece more often then you´d think. You can check it out tomorrow. "

The Atlas was the only mech she yould imagine she could ever drive. It could take a beating where other mechs would just crumble away and it could deal more damage than anything she had seen besides a company of Artillery or a nuke. It was her tool of destruction, and the only thing she trusted to the bone.