104 replies to this topic

[RogueSpear]

[[Out of character notes less than a few lines may be made in double square brackets like this. There will be no new additions to this RP - any posts not from the players in this thread will result in a request to the mods for deletion. Posts in the Out of Character Thread however, are welcomed! Feel free to offer input and comments.
*Coughs* To business. Thom, you're being interviewed on behalf of your Corp (Which I'll need a name for brought up casually by Thom) at the Irregular's recruitment office on Outreach, Vodka, you'll be joining part way through this interview, Vantas is going to be giving you the final call on Thom since your infantry will be working closely with him and his men, just let me know who's going to do the initial talking and I'll call you in ASAP , Warder, you're going to be approached by those Irregulars you mentioned, and the rest of you are in a bar not far from the office. Interact with each other and get some back story done while your Glorious Leader gets you a job ]]

Conference room,
Rogue's Armoured Irregulars Recruitment Offices,
Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:25 Hours,

Captain Vantas Strider of the Rogue's Armoured Irregulars sighed heavily. A tall, thick set man, his skull was completely bald, a thick but short black beard rimmed his jaw. He wore a simple iron grey t-shirt whose short sleeves showed off his physique and fitted black cargo trousers. A long, slim leather holster for an elegantly brutal looking pistol rode his right hip, three heavy clips fitted into snap off holders on the outside. He leaned back into his chair, clasping his hands before his face. "Captain Sukhanov," He stressed the rank, "I do appreciate your personal stake in this mission and acknowledge that you should have a say in the planning and execution of this endeavour. However I must remind you that despite your allegiance to our employers," He hated to use the term as he knew it annoyed his counterpart, but it was suitably vague and appropriate sounding - and also true, however much it hurt the other's pride. "That this is a Rogue's Armoured Irregulars operation and as such what measures we take in the execution of this mission are up to us."
The other man turned away from him in irritation, profiling his clenched jaw, short brown hair and uniform, navy blue jacket and ice blue trousers. Turning back to Vantas, he ground out, "I still do not understand why you must hire additional mercenaries. If you require a larger ground force, call upon your other companies."
"We have been over this, my friend. Our other companies are on other operations, and are too far away from where we must strike. We require a rapid strike to meet the stated objectives in time for it to be of benefit to our benefactors. The Green Hearts are old allies, stalwart and true, honourable warriors all. Mr. Frankfurt's new company...I confess you may have grounds for concern there. But I have fought beside Thom before. He is a good man, perfect for the job at hand, and a friend." He pointed sternly at the naval captain. "Do not cause offence to them as you have to others we have spoken to. No matter how much Mr. Frankfurt destroys the English language." He grinned at his own joke, but sobered up again almost immediately. "Or I am afraid the issue will escalate."
Sukhanov glared at him for a moment, finally nodding curtly. Vantas let out a suspended breath discreetly, "Please my friend, do sit. We will not endanger our relationship, if our friends may cause difficulties, we will simply tell them we are unable to continue. Now, Mr. Frankfurt is here and the Green Hearts are sending someone over. I do hope it is Otto. I have not seen him in some years." He cocked his head as he headed to the door of the small conference room. "You know I really do think you should consider alcohol. It lends a certain calmness to life."
He opened the door, smiling widely. "Thom, it is good to see you. Please, come in." He shook hands with the mechwarrior as he came through into the conference room, glancing round at the long glass table, Captain Sukhanov sitting tightlipped next to the chair bearing Vantas' faded black leather jacket, still bearing the red angled, labyrinthine pattern first used by the Irregulars in '49, the cool grey faux-marble walls. "This is Captain Sukhanov, he commands our warships. Perhaps you've heard of them." He grinned again, holding up a warning finger "But no questions please, that is a tale for another time. Please, sit." He took his own seat once more, leaning back and crossing his leg over his left knee. "So I hear your new corp is looking for a job?"

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Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:20 Hours,

"Mr. Helsturm?" The lead Irregular paused for a moment for Jason to acknowledge. "I'm Lieutenant Michael Cotto, with the Rogue's Armoured Irregulars. This is Sergeant George Livessy, he uh, he actually had to show me the way. I apologize for my tardiness, I got lost had and had to call my buddy here." He grinned somewhat sheepishly. "May I sit?"

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Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:30 Hours,
"So, who's the next round on, gentlemen?" The bartender leaned on the bar next to the group of seminervous mechwarriors. "Or does your CO expect you to be standing when he gets back from his interview?

Edited by RogueSpear, 20 September 2012 - 03:57 AM.

[Sparks Murphey]

Quickscell High-Speed Mechanics Laboratory,
Vidyotma,
Kalidasa,
16th December, 3062, 12:30 Hours

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Adrianna Delfino’s high heels beat a slow tempo through the vault of the High-Speed Mechanics Laboratory’s Bay Alpha. Unlike many BattleMech bays, the polished concrete floor was immaculate, the brushed steel walls buffed to a mirror shine. Every tool was stowed in its box, and the boxes neatly arranged against the walls inside crisp yellow outlines. The stationary BattleMechs stood like solemn guardians watching over this almost holy space.

Three things contributed to the bay’s unusual state. Firstly, being primarily a research facility, it was quite removed from the chaos of the front lines. No machines came back here dripping coolant or oil or mud after the brutal horrors of warfare, at least not without going somewhere else first. Secondly, many of the components that voyaged through this space were of a sensitive nature, and so they were kept in as clean an environment as practical until they could be hardened for the rigors of combat. But, most importantly, the man who currently sat contemplating his latest work while absently chewing on a ham sandwich could not abide disorganisation. Adrianna absently smoothed a few wrinkles out of her skirt suit.

“Herbert,” she said with a soft smile, “I see you’ve been busy.”

“Adrianna, my dear girl!” he called, getting to his feat and enveloping her in a hug. Though Adrianna was in her late thirties, Herbert Prugger was pushing eighty. To him, everyone was a still a boy or a girl.

“Is this the prototype?” she asked, looking up at the towering BattleMech before them.

Herbert nodded. “It’s a modified CN9-D. Most of her is identical to a stock Corean ‘58 model, though we’ve replaced the thermal system with an off-the-shelf Chillflex double heat sink set-up...”

Adrianna was already walking around her new ride. “I’ve heard you guys were working on a successor to the Hyper-5,” she said, pointing at the 6-barrelled autocannon jutting from the ‘Mech’s right arm, “Is that...?”

“That’s the crux of the matter, yes. The Deleon Ardent-5, our answer to the Mydron Model RC Rotary AC/5. Which I believe you are familiar with.”

She shot him a wry look. Word got around, it seemed. “Yes, I took the Argus for a spin for Robinson Standard in its shakedown,” she glanced back at the Centurion, “This...would be very similar to the Argus, wouldn’t it?”

“Only in the gross details. They have almost identical weapons, though our Centurion doesn’t carry the LRMs. They fit the same engine, too, though the Centurion harvests an extra ten kays an hour out of it due to its lower weight. Also, you’ll find that the arm articulation on the Centurion is better than that of the Argus, allowing you to track your targets easier.”

“And a targeting computer?” Adrianna asked, “Both the Argus and the Centurion CN9-D5 carried a t-comp to counteract the instabilities in the autocannon’s firing. Did you cram MASC in there as well, like the -D5?”

Herbert nodded. “Yes to the MASC, but no to the targeting computer. Well, sort of. We’ve installed a C3 master system. We think the Ardent-5 should be stable enough under battlefield conditions, but the C3 will enhance the targeting of an entire lance, not just your own. We’re interested in seeing how the trade off goes.”

Adrianna mulled it over for a few moments. The Argus had been an impressive machine, if a little slow for her tastes. This Centurion could be a brilliant skirmisher with its combination of firepower and speed. Of course, the MASC and Ardent-5 would be temperamental, and if they broke down, she effectively be driving a crippled Spider with some extra armour...

“Have you got a tech you’re assigning me?” she asked.

“Yes, have you met...no, of course you wouldn’t have. A young lady by the name of Zoé Winchester. A bright girl who worked on the construction of the Ardent-5 prototype, so she knows her way around it. This will be her first time out in the field, though, so keep an eye on her.”

“Alright. I’ll take the job. I’ve got passage to Outreach on the Patrician Gold. I’ll let them know to expect you.”

Herbert shook his head with a sad smile. “And like that, you’re rushing off again. Have you considered about just sitting back and enjoying what your toils have brought you?”

“I tried settling down once, Herbert. It didn’t work out,” Adrianna replied, bending over to kiss him on the cheek, “Take care of yourself, old man.”

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Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:30 Hours

Adrianna laughed.

“Standing is for people who can’t crawl. Next round’s on me, boys.”

Heck, she could probably claim it back from Quickscell as hiring expenses.

Edited by Sparks Murphey, 20 September 2012 - 06:05 PM.

[Oni Storm]

Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:32 Hours,

The young leather jacket wearing, Daisy Dukes donning, lollipop sucking, pink pig tailed, nubile ball of energy, bouncing her butt up and down on the bar stool like she was hopped up on so many energy drinks it was literally impossible for her to sit still. Perked up and skipped her way towards the waitress as she heard the magic words ring out.

“Standing is for people who can’t crawl. Next round’s on me, boys.”

Alexi couldn't help but resist when she heard the challenge of her competitor is this new little band. Adrianna might be her senior and admittedly was quite possibly a better pilot, but she knew she had her beat in the technical aspects of her own 'Mech and worldly experiences too. She therefore couldn't abide by letting the "other" woman steal the show. She grabbed a glass from the waitress as she passed by with the tray for the group. "I'll drink to that dear lady and as for the rest of the night, well let's just say the drinks are on our grateful commander" She slide the plastic on the tray. "Start us a tab. Thom's Terrors are here to drink til we can't walk straight or talk up right." she laughed impishly at her own little play on words and joke. Might as well enjoy it while she could (Tomorrow there will be hell to pay when the commander finds out I swiped one of his cards) so she started listing off her top three mixed concoctions and figured that that was a good start, hopefully to more good times to come.

Edited by Oni Storm, 20 September 2012 - 06:10 PM.

[SuomiWarder]

[Edits: I added a time/place marker at the start, and I slightly changed some of Cotto's and Livessy's expressed thoughts to reflect new info I recieved on what they do or do not know. Only about 20 or 30 words changed, no biggie but I like continuity to be as precise as possible]

Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:20 Hours,

"Mr. Helsturm?" The lead Irregular paused for a moment for Jason to acknowledge. "I'm Lieutenant Michael Cotto, with the Rogue's Armoured Irregulars. This is Sergeant George Livessy, he uh, he actually had to show me the way. I apologize for my tardiness, I got lost had and had to call my buddy here." He grinned somewhat sheepishly. "May I sit?"

Jason didn't look up until the man he assumed was from the RAI asked about sitting. Mainly because at first he thought that "Mr. Helstrum" had to be the guy at the next table. Then it snapped into his head that he was supposed to be "Mr. Helstrum".

"Uh, sure bud. Grab a perch," he replied nodding towards the empty seats at his table.

"You are Jack Helstrum the MechWarrior right?" asked Lieutenant Cotto in puzzlement. There was a scar on his cheek, was this guy slow from brain damage or something?

"Yeah, yeah that's me. Jack Helstrum," agreed Jason. Think fast Jason he told himself. "I'm, uh...not used to people calling me 'mister'. Kinda threw me off for a moment. Since I'm freelance without a unit I don't claim a rank. Most folks just call me by my call sign Splatter."

"Very well Splatter." Coto resisted the urge to call him 'Mister Splatter'. Distracting this guy might take him too far off target. "We received your contract request seeking 'short term BattleMech engagement, long distance travel preferred'. As it happens we might have something suited for your....reputation for causing havok. I understand that you actually have your own 'Mech."

"Two of them in fact," crowed Jason. And they really were his and not the Suomi Warders. Genuine pride of ownership shone in Jason's eyes for Cotto to read. "I've been thinking about selling one or both and retiring with a huge wad of C-bills....but I do enjoy my work so much. Plus this eye gets cold in my head. Then it aches. Only combat seems to warm it up."

Both RAI men looked more closely at the eye above the scar. With a close look they saw that it was one of the very expensive artificial ones that actually function. Canopian work usually, tied directly into the optic nerves. They exchanged worried glances. An artificial eye shouldn't feel cold or ache....but maybe it was phantom pain of some type. Or maybe this Helstrum guy was a little unhinged.

"You guys try the bacon here?" Jason asked, remembering that he was supposed to be an unsavory guy that found death funny. "The smell reminds me a bit like roasted Liao. Not uh, that I've eaten one. A Liao person, not bacon I mean. I'm just saying like when you're walking around a burning building enjoying the fire".

Jason could sense that he was laying on the mad dog Mechwarrior act a bit too thick. These guys were about to dismiss him as unemployable. He had rehearsed the bait lines Colonel Woods had given him over and over. It was time to use one of the few prepared speeches he had for his makeshift persona.

"Let's cut the crap and get down to brass tacks," Jason/Jack suddenly announced in a lower, serious tone. "I have a need to get off this rock. While my two Mechs will get me employment with any number of units, I don't want to be very visible or stationary. I have something very valuable in a crate that I hope to sell to ComStar for a hefty payday. Or maybe someone else. I looked up your public battle records on MercNet. The RAI seems to be somewhat friendly with ComStar. A plus for me. You guys seem to be planning something secret and hairy. Another plus for me. I have a Vulcan and a Flashman, the Flashman has been modded with a slave C3. I know how to link C3s. A double plus for you. My battle history - which I'm sure you looked up - shows that I'm always loyal to the guy paying the money. Sure, sometimes there is unexpected collateral damage but we're not playing tiddly-winks. And frankly, from your point of view, I'm expendable. Thus as a well armed, expendable pawn willing to follow questionable orders if the money is right that should be three more plusses in your column. That's two for me and five for you. I may ramble on a bit from time to time, but I'm the real deal in a BattleMech and a good deal for whatever black op you have planned. So what do you say we go talk to whoever is calling the shots in this here op?"

"What makes you think questionable orders might be involved?" asked Sergeant Livessy. He was a little annoyed at the implication that the RAI was planning something illegal or underhanded. The sergeant knew that the rumor mill was abuzz about the operation. He wasn't cleared to talk about it yet, but still, unit honor couldn't be ignored.

Jason leaned back in his chair. Time to ad lib again. "Well, you have Mech companies available that you are not using and seem to be hiring a bunch of lone wolves and unit fragments for whatever job you're planning. In my book that means your CO must expect things to become...non standard shall we say. And if I say so myself, I am an expert at non standard."

Neither RAI trooper could refute that line of logic. Cotto knew that from outside this whole deal probably looked pretty shaky. A unit's reputation affected the terms they could get on contracts, and reputations could be affected as easily by rumors as by facts.

Cotto didn't like this part of the city. Not that the bar full of preening unemployed MechWarriors was much beter. But at least it was in a decent part of town. What the hell, he decided. Even if the guy is a little off as he said himself he is expendable. And the boss man will probably want to hear more about a crate ComStar might be interested in. And perhaps peek inside.

The Lieutenant stood up. "Here's the deal. We're not offering permanent spots with the Irregulars. But maybe if you do well, it might be in the cards. You lone wolves we're organizing into the remains of a small unit headed by a guy named Thom. Technically you contract to him and he contracts his group to us. So let's go see Thom. If he likes you, you're in."

"Plausible deniability, standard o.p. Works for me, let's do it," agreed Jason. As he stood he picked up the local paper, made a face like he had no more need for it, then folded it in half and dropped it back onto the table. That was the sign to Colonels Woods and Linna that he was on his way to the make it or break it meeting where he would get let into the op...or not. He very carefully did not look at their table to see if hey were watching him. To accomplish this, he mainly stared at the ground.

As the trio left the cafe, Cotto threw a calculating glance at the scar faced MechWarrior with the artificial eye. He came off as a slightly battle addled simpleton, yet he was shrewd in his assessment of the overall situation, recognized his own status as a disposable pawn, and used phrases like ' Plausible deniability'. Well, according to his official record he had successfully defended himself against various war crimes charges three times before the Review Board. Obviously there was more going on upstairs in the man's head than his public persona hinted at.

The question was, did Splatter play at having a screw loose to keep people from noticing how shrewd he was? Or was he a smart guy that had been smacked upside the head a few too many times so that his mind wandered down unusual avenues taking his words with it? There was no reason why crazy people can't be smart, he reminded himself. Whatever the case, it would be Thom's problem and not his. But this Splatter guy did seem to warrant keeping an eye on. Just in case the loose screw thing was an act and the guy had his own op he was running on the RAI.

Edited by SuomiWarder, 20 September 2012 - 09:15 PM.

[Nor Azman]

The cell has four walls. It has no windows. There is no light.

A man, draped in rags, huddled in a corner, stinky and pitiful. How long has it been? A week? A month? A year? It is hard to tell the passing of time when you cannot see the rising and setting of the sun.

It is said that a moment in hell would last an eternity. But the man knew he was not in hell. Here was man-made.

The stench of pis whiffed at the corner. Again the man tried to moist his dry lips. How long has it been since he drank water? His thoughts were getting strained. Only the thirst. It may come to that. The man smelled the stench at the corner. Now that would be a show for the hidden cameras.

It was a game they played with him, the people who brought him here to this hell that was man-made. It was a game the man was no stranger to. Every man breaks. The man had learned early on not to play games, to submit quickly, to keep up your strength. But this time was different. These people were not looking for meek submission, or rather not entirely. The man knew that if he yielded too easily, he would be dead. So they let him live, to see how and when he would break.

The room he was in was controlled. Sometimes the room would get so hot like you were in an oven. Sometimes the room would get so cold, as if you were in a freezer. Sometimes an overwhelming pungent smell would choke the room. Sometimes shrill piercing noise would sound on and on and on. Today they are using basic food and water deprivation. At any time it could end. They had set the rules. The man had only to say aloud a few words and whatever method they were using would stop.

Again the man tried to moist his lips. The stench of pis was at the corner. His thoughts were growing feeble but he needed to calculate.

…need to calculate…

In a meek voice and not for the first time, the man said the words, “I am a dog.”

He heard the hinges of the small opening creak. Even then there was no light. He heard a bowl being placed on the floor. The man crawled weakly to the direction of the sounds he heard. Groping in the dark, he found the small bowl. The man dipped his finger in and took a taste. Stale water. As thirsty as he was, the man knew he must not drink the small bowl quickly. He must conserve. The man drank quietly, one slow finger dip at a time. He must keep up his strength.

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The cell has four walls. It has no windows. There is no light.

A man has only his thoughts for company. His thoughts and time.

…But are you a dog?...

The man did not like this voice.

…You are a killer, yes. You are a coward, yes. But are you a dog?...

The man tried to push the voice back to the place of screams and dark memories. It was getting harder and harder. The man had grown so weak. The voice becoming ever stronger.

…Oh but I am you and you are me, one big happy family…

The door to the cell slammed open.

Even then there was no light. Rough hands reached out in the dark and dragged the man away.

They left him in a new room. The man could sense the empty space. That here was a larger place then the cell that had been his world. Weak as he was the man got to his feet. The man had a feeling that this was coming to an end.

It is important to be standing at the end.

A voice boomed from a speaker, coming from one direction and then another. “We have finished our evaluation, and you have failed. It is time for you to die.”

“Time to die.” The man mouthed those words.

A sharp blow to the face knocked the man to the ground. Instinctively the man rolled to the side to avoid any follow up strike. He had to get up quickly, the man managed to, but a blow to the gut brought him to his knees. Another blow to the face sent him sprawling to the floor. Again the man rolled to the side, quickly getting up, trying to get distance away from his attacker. He was so weak, locked in that cell for so long.

…so weak…

The man tried to sense his would-be killer in the darkness. Nothing. A sharp blow to his right followed by uppercut to his chin sent the man reeling. Panic was quickly building inside him. He could not sense where his attacker was. Only darkness. He would die in this black place.

Focus!

The man closed his eyes, shutting out the darkness around him. He needed to remember the training from the old man, a long time ago.

You and your target are one and the same.

You breathe the same air.

You feel the same fear, the same pain.

Your target’s strengths are yours, your target weakness are yours.

You and your target are one and the same.

The man calmed down and reached out with his senses. His intended killer was well trained. Even the killer’s breathing was as still as shadow… but…there you are…

The sense of movement. The man avoided the blow. The sense of movement. The man avoided the next blow. The man countered with his own strikes, probing, measuring.

Every step, every exchange, the man began to synchronize with his attacker. The toll the dark cell had took on his body was pushed away. His attacker’s strength was his own now. The man was lost in the song.

A palm strike upwards to the jaw. Quick wheel fists strike bursts to the chest. Hit, hit, hit, hit, hit. A low diagonal thrust kick to the knee. The feel of knee buckling. The man’s attacker did not even made a sound. The killer was well trained. Lost in the song, the man reached for his dagger for the kill, realised he had no dagger this time. A blow at the man’s back. Pain. The man turned. Another blow hit home, coming from another direction. Gritting his teeth, the man began retreating, trying to keep his distance as he again reached out with his senses. A new attacker. No two. Three in all.

The man tried to synchronize with all his attackers but the song was getting disconcerted. The toll his body suffered in the black cell could no longer be ignored. He could feel his strength ebbing away.

So. Is this it?

…Time to die…

Blows came from one direction and then all. The man tried to defend himself but it was a futile gesture. Quickly the man was on the floor, curling himself to a ball, trying to cover up as best he could. Blows rained down mercilessly.

…Close your eyes and look away. It’s my turn now…

The man closed his eyes. It was finally going to end.

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The room was white. The room was bright. Too much light. Too much light.

The man’s eyes burned, too long was he kept in that black cell. Every inch of his body was bruised, hurting. There was a ringing in his ears and his thoughts were muddled. He needed to focus.

….need to focus…

He was sitting down.

…I am sitting on a chair…

There was a table in front of him. There were objects on the table. ..focus… Files..papers…dossiers…pictures of individual persons…There was a voice, not whispering in his thoughts but spoken out loud. The man listened to its source. Another person sat on the other side of the table. A woman. An old woman. …focus… Her face, she had a granny’s face, too plain, too ordinary, easily forgettable. …dangerous… The old woman’s eyes were cold. The old woman was talking… something… rogue…

“Wha?” the man spoke in full comprehension of the situation.

The old woman stopped whatever she was saying and considered the man with cold eyes.

“Welcome back.” She finally said. “We believe there is no point in beginning again. May you please look at your hands.”

The man looked to find his hands covered in blood.

“May you please taste your lips.”

The man licked his lips and tasted… and tasted… what was that dripping down his chin?

“May you please look behind you.”

The man looked behind him. He was accustomed to ghastly scenes but something was wrong. Three bodies lay unmoving, blood flowed and splattered across the floors and walls, a crimson contrast to all the white. But even from afar the bodies looked mangled. They weren’t just killed, they were butchered, limbs broken, throats torn, flesh ripped off - the sort of bare savagery reavers from the periphery were known to commit.

The man placed his fingers to his mouth. What was that taste? Meat. The man felt sick.

“Of course we have our doubts about you. But, we all must submit to the judgement of our superiors.”

“All men must serve,” he answered in a coarse voice, remembering the words he read in a book.

“Yes, all men must serve.” The woman gestured to the dossiers on the table. “As we were saying, the arrangements have been made. You are to return to Outreach. There will be a unit – the Rogue’s Armoured Irregulars who are about to embark on a mission. You are to be on that mission. You are to observe and report. These… Irregulars… are of some interests to us. Do you understand?”

“Observe and report.” The man answered numbly.

“Good. As for compensation for your services, as you remember, we do reward generously…”

“But… I have no mech.” Even now the memory of his battlemech, left as burning wreckage was raw to him. He was a Dispossessed, another broken mechwarrior.

“We have requisition a Vulcan VT 5S to fit your profile. We understand you are familiar with the chassis.”

The man nodded.

“Good. We do trust you will not betray us again.”

The man took a moment to wipe the blood from his mouth. Not his own. He managed to smile, meeting the old woman in her cold eyes.

“Never.”

The plain old woman considered the man carefully.

“And who are you?”

“I am a dog.” The man answered automatically.

“No. You will be Azman for now.”

Edited by Nor Azman, 30 September 2012 - 03:32 PM.

[Nor Azman]

The view from the penthouse suite was exquisite.

The man called Azman didn’t care for the fancy furniture, or the floating chandelier, the tapestries and all the other fineries. The room had a view, and from the view - an open sky. That was important. He had to remember.

From the window of the penthouse suite they arranged for him, Azman could see the entire breath of the city that was Harlech, the beating heart of the Warriors’ World – Outreach. Azman could see clearly, even at night, the waters gleaming from Lake Kearny on one end to the looming cliffs of the Ridge on the other, with all the buildings and bustles of people in between. Dozens of Dropships were breaking atmosphere coming to or going away from the distant spaceport. And by the spaceport, the stretches of warehouses, hangers and support bays that made up the Mech Yards. Azman could see the prestigious University of Harlech, ever the centre of learning and the HPG station, so vital a link between the city to the stars. However, what dominates the view of Harlech was its centre - the grand Hiring Hall with its six towers surrounding a central dome. Massive, architecturally designed to be aesthetic as well as functional, the Hiring Hall was a constant reminder to all in the city the reason for the city’s significance in the Inner Sphere. Harlech, Outreach had become the crossroad of the mercenary trade.

Oh, a merc can still visit the fading star that is Galatea, or take his chances in the Games World of Solaris VII. A merc can visit the rising centres of Arc Royal and Northwind or the often discounted Westerhand or Nosiel or Flecther. A merc could even be desperate enough to head to the lawless periphery ports of Antallos, Astrokaszy, and Heroditus. But these days, all mercs must make pilgrimage to Outreach, Harlech and its Hiring Hall if he ever wants to make a name for himself.

Azman slowly scanned the night skyline of the city, drinking the view, for so long he had none. But his eyes stopped and rested to a darkened corner, to the sprawled silhouettes of low lying buildings and broken homes. The ghetto of Harlech city. TempTown. The hole where Azman had crawled to die.

…like a dog…

Azman pushed the voice away. But his eyes continued to stay on TempTown. For a long time he stood silently and watched. He had to turn away.

Behind him, set out meticulously on a lush emperor-size bed were those tangible things that helped a person remind himself who he was. Azman looked at the items that they had prepared for him.

A relic six-shot revolver. Azman checked its condition. They had taken care of it. It was cleaned. It was oiled. It was loaded.

…“You only need one shot Azman”

…“Yes sempai.”

Azman strapped the six-shooter to his side holster.

“For love and peace.” He made the old trigun prayer.

Next, a wakazashi long dagger, sheathed. Azman approached it as one would approach a slumbering snake.

…“It is only a tool Azman”

…“Yes sempai.”

Azman unsheathed the dagger. Inspected it, his weary eyes mirrored in the clear polished blade. Azman sheathed the dagger and slide it to his belt. For better or worse it was a part of him.

The largest item on the bed was a large well-worn browncoat. So long a friend for a many a day and night. How many times had this old smelly browncoat was his shield from the elements that battered every and all tired campaigners. Azman wore his old friend and thought of his old unit, the loose band of misfits, rebels and vagabonds. …Misbehaving somewhere no doubt… Azman smiled.

He knew he was being watched, but still he needed to check all the coat’s many pockets, hidden or otherwise. All his items were there but one in particular Azman was glad still remained. In a hidden pocket Azman felt the outlines of a familiar pocket watch.

Azman put on his notched glasses and smiled.

…Remember who you are…

…Who am I?...

Beside the lush emperor-size bed, Azman slept on the floor. Out of habit, his hands rested on his weapons.

…Who are you?...

…I am a dog…

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


“I am Azman.” The man smiled sheepishly pushing his notched glasses up. “‘ I’m a merc! Domo. Domo. Am here about a job? High pay? Likely death? Mercenary work, gotta love it.”

The chicken mascot of Galactic Fried Chicken looked blankly at the so-called merc then pointed at the direction of a bar. Azman signalled his thanks.

“When in doubt, ask a giant chicken.” Azman nooded sagely to himself.

The so-called merc in a large browncoat headed for the bar, oddly scratching his rear end for some reason.

Edited by Nor Azman, 21 September 2012 - 02:07 PM.

[RogueSpear]

Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:30 Hours

"So here's the deal, Splatter." Cotto suddenly stopped on the pavement as the building containing the Irregular's offices came into sight, turning to face Jason. "This is a dangerous op, but it isn't under the table. We're on a timer and we can't wait for rendezvous with our other companies, so to round out our numbers and make sure we can get the job done, we're hiring some extras. Right now, it's looking like those are a PBI unit we're friendly with and a mech force run by Thom Frankfurt. Don't know if you've ever heard of him, but his dad is a Solaris grand champ and we've fought with him before." Cotto eyes searched the other man's strangely familiar face."If you're not on the level, I'm not bringing you into that building." He pointed straight at it, right up at the third floor where their holdings were. "You'll do as you're told, bring one mech to leave maximum space on the transports, and you so much as think about racking up your fourth crime charge with the MRBC, I will personally join your little party and shoot you myself. Now I don't like to be this serious but this is important kid." Nelson may have been 29, but Cotto was pushing his way towards 43, his once brown hair now a silver grey flecked with bronze, though still cropped to LCAF regulation length. His hard boned and skinny frame had gone from wiry to taut, bones turned to rock, muscles to steel cables. Everyone was a kid to him now. "You readin' me?"

[Thom Frankfurt]

Conference room,
Rogue's Armoured Irregulars Recruitment Offices,
Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:29 Hours


The oaken door suddenlly opened, and Vantas stuck his head out smiling widely. "Thom, it is good to see you. Please, come in." He shook hands with the mechwarrior as he came through into the conference room, glancing round at the long glass table, Captain Sukhanov sitting tightlipped next to the chair bearing Vantas' faded black leather jacket, still bearing the red angled, labyrinthine pattern first used by the Irregulars in '49, the cool grey faux-marble walls. "This is Captain Sukhanov, he commands our warships. Perhaps you've heard of them." He grinned again, holding up a warning finger "But no questions please, that is a tale for another time. Please, sit." He took his own seat once more, leaning back and crossing his leg over his left knee. "So I hear your new corp is looking for a job?"

After pumping Vantas' firm handshake, Thom gave Vantas a beaming smile.

[For those that don't know Thom.]

The not-quite-so-young Warlockian had changed quite some bit since blundering into the Irregular admist the chaos of the Clan Invasion. Whereas before Thom was tall and lanky, like a bean pole, he had filled out. Many hours spend exsercising and Yoga [Snickers, you know he's only doing it so he could try to suck his own d**k. J/k it's actually how he kills time during trips between stars] had built up strong wirey muscle. Piercing blue eyes stared out of a leathery skinned face, twinkling mischieviously. Thom was 'dressed to impress' today. A black and blue striped [Verticly] silk dress shirt hugged the mercenary's frame. He even wore a tie! A blacken strip of fabric embroidered with the logo for Warlock Stables, [Micky Mouse wearing the wizard hat from 'Fantasia.' DeMarkus has a thing for Mickey.] which the Warlockian smoothed down absentmindedly, hinting as discomfort. A black leather belt with a massive wrought iron beltbuckle in the shape of a club suit [from a deck of cards] with silver inlaid skulls grinning out from each ****** of the club held up black cargo pants and combat boots shined to a mirrior like sheen completed the ensamble.

Several tattoos dotted/enhanced/marred the mercs skin. On his right forearm there were several, a broken horseshoe, a blackened and wilted looking four leafed clover, and a bloody severed rabbit's foot with the words 'Bad Luck' [YEAH, I'M LOOKING AT YOU GW!!] circling the inkwork. On his left forearm was a black heart shaped tattoo, a black and greyish metalic looking vulture, and a portriat of an older looking man. Across the mercs knuckles were the words 'Hard-Core.' tatted in a flat black, a refrence to the Banchee assault mech he piloted on Solaris for a season.

Thom then tugged at the collar of his shirt in an obvlious sign of discomfort, revealing a new tattoo. A set of green lips, with scabs still flaking off. From the way he fidgetted at the shirt and toyed with the tie, it was apparant to anyone bothering to pay attention that he wasn't used to fancy silk shirts or ties, and that he'd be more comfortable in a tattered Iron Maiden shirt or his heavily studded leather jacket.

"Yeah's it's agood to see you's atoo, Vantas. Sorry's I'msa late. I's got tied up wit da MRBC... I's swear, ever since Barcelona, dem Dragoon's get a kick outta busting my balls. Den dey wantta give's me crap for trying to's secure some extra parts from Blackwell... A-holes." Thom ranted out as an apology and explanation all rolled up in one.

"Oh yeah's I's aheard dat you's got some ships, but warships?" Thom let out a long low whistle. "As you's may aknow, I'ms a share holder with Imstar Aerospace, so's I's a know a little," He held up his fingers with his index finger and thum about an inch appart from one another. "about jumpships. But dat's another story... Back to your's question... Yeah, my merry band of misfits are alooking for a job. And I's ahear dat you'res looking for someone's willing to's put der neck on da line.... Like dey say at da end of every episode of 'Immortal Warrior,'" He paused for dramatic effect. "No Guts, No Galaxy."

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 21 September 2012 - 04:22 AM.

[RogueSpear]

Conference room,
Rogue's Armoured Irregulars Recruitment Offices,
Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:32 Hours

"Late? My dear friend, we know you too well. We told you 1400, and booked the room for 14:30." Grinned Vantas. "In point of fact, you're early." He shot a glance at Sukhanov and cleared his throat, assuming a serious expression and leaning forward. "I must ask you a few questions before I can offer you this job. What assets do you possess? Mechwarriors, mechs, technicians?" He paused for a moment, "I had heard you were a pure mech force, but I must admit my informant was somewhat worse for drink so please list anything else you have. How good are your pilots? How advanced is your tech?" He gave a lopsided smile. "In fact, I need most of the answers you gave to the MRBC earlier."

Edited by RogueSpear, 21 September 2012 - 04:43 AM.

[Nor Azman]

Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:35 Hours,


“Would any of you like to see my big wobbly headed doll?” Azman asked, then paused, wondering if he worded it right, in front of the two ladies present, the wildly unpredictable pink-haired Alexi Auburn and the cool sophisticated raven-haired Adrianna Delfino.

“I mean my geisha doll.” Azman checked his many pockets in his browncoat and produce a small ‘super kawaii’ wobbly big headed geisha doll on the table. “Its not a secret spying device or anything. I used them for trade once. I was a small time trader back in the day.”

Azman looked fondly at the small doll on the table. “You put one of these on your control console for good luck." Azman started to wobble his head a little. "I thought I would make a small fortune since everybody needed fortune with all the wars going on. But… they didn’t sell well.” Azman looked kinda sadly at the small geisha doll smiling up at him wobbling her oversized head.

“The hula girls came to market around the same time. They were the hit. Go figure." Azman shrugged.“Mudder’s Milk please." he ordered.

"So at one point, I had boxes of unsold geisha dolls stuffed in the cockpit of me old mech. Nowhere to put them. Nobody wanted them. It would be a shame to throw them away. And everytime me commando got hit, big headed geisha dolls would fly all over the place! Messing the controls, blocking the monitors, me cursing at dolls and women in general on the comms and enemy mechs closing in. Ah good times. Me and me commando.” Again a sad look crossed Azman’s face as he watched the small geisha doll on the table wobbled her head. The look quickly passed.

“Say what you want about men who play with dolls. A man needs to find comfort where he can, all lonesome in his bunk.” Azman gave Alexi and Adrianna a slimly look.

“Thank you.” Azman nodded, getting his drink. “Not that my exploits can measure to your deeds at Sevren of course,” Azman tipped his cup to Adrianna. “Or to your records in Solaris VII” Azman tipped his cup to Alexi. “But we all must be proud at something.”

Azman took a healthy gulp from his cup of milk, leaving a visible milk whisker on his upper lip.

“Hey. I just thought of something! They could nicknamed us the ‘Triple As’. Us three. Azman, Alexi and Adrianna. The ‘Triple As of the Terrors’! ” Azman chuckled at his own joke, taking another gulp, then looked around the bar, wondering.

“Know I’m kinda new to the Terrors and all… but where are the rest of the crew? Beside Thom that is. Are we in the right meeting place? Or… is it by ‘accident’ I’m alone with you two beautiful ladies and we’re getting all drunk on drink and warm company for a reason...” Azman gave the two women a big dumb smile from ear to ear.

[Durgan Carlyle]

The Raven Loft,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:50 Hours,

Jon pushed the double doors leading into the Mercenary Hall open, the rain came rushing in splattering on the floor. Jon moved clear of the door with Gant following close behind, Gant proceed to close the door but the damage had been done the entrance to the bar was now a small pond. Jon proceed to shake his black trench coat as dry as he could and then turned towards Grant to see how he had weathered the sudden downpour. Jon caught Grant staring at his side looking down Jon noticed the hilt of his katana was exposed, Jon quickly rearrange his coat hiding the weapon.

“What?” Jon said sarcastically.

Jon shrugged Gant off and turned back to examine the bar and its patrons. The typical middle class bar, not to shady but just enough to attract the likes of the Thom's Terrors. Looking around Jon finally noticed a familiar face among the crowd it was Azman sitting at the bar.

“I see Azman lets go play nice.”

“Ha, when do I ever” Gant mumbled.

Jon and Gant carefully moved there way between the tables full of patrons finally arrive behind Azman. Jon reached up and tapped Azman on the shoulder.

“Where is everyone?” Jon asked looking around.

Edited by Durgan Carlyle, 21 September 2012 - 04:39 PM.

[Oni Storm]

The Raven Loft,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:40-14:50 Hours

Azman checked his many pockets in his browncoat and produce a small ‘super kawaii’ wobbly big headed geisha doll on the table. “Its not a secret spying device or anything. I used them for trade once. I was a small time trader back in the day.”

Azman looked fondly at the small doll on the table. “You put one of these on your control console for good luck." Azman started to wobble his head a little. "I thought I would make a small fortune since everybody needed fortune with all the wars going on. But… they didn’t sell well.” Azman looked kinda sadly at the small geisha doll smiling up at him wobbling her oversized head.

"AAAAAWWWWWWW! IT's the cutest thing ever!! I'm not sure which I enjoy more. A man that plays with dolls or this adorable little cutie." Alexi picked up the small doll without regard or thinking and lightly shook it so it wobbled some more, then she broke into a little version of "Wobble baby wobble baby wobble baby..wobble" and shook her own hips and shoulders to the beat before blushing and looking slightly amused and embarrassed before setting the cutsie doll back on the table.

“The hula girls came to market around the same time. They were the hit. Go figure." Azman shrugged.“Mudder’s Milk please." he ordered.

"OH!! I remember those I used to have one when.. I remember my da... {she stumbled upon her words and tried to quickly play it off to a drunken belch] yeah anyway.. my boyfriend David from back then got it for me. I used to take it everywhere.. [see looked kinda sad now herself] but that was then and this is now and we can't dwell in our pasts.." She smiled brightly and quickly chugged at a purple frozen concoction.

"So at one point, I had boxes of unsold geisha dolls stuffed in the cockpit of me old mech. Nowhere to put them. Nobody wanted them. It would be a shame to throw them away. And everytime me commando got hit, big headed geisha dolls would fly all over the place! Messing the controls, blocking the monitors, me cursing at dolls and women in general on the comms and enemy mechs closing in. Ah good times. Me and me commando.”

"AWWW Man" She kicked at the dust gathered around the table. "I would really have loved on of these little cutie's too." A Big frown and pouty lips appeared, diminishing the angel some but were quickly replaced as it seemed like and idea suddenly burst through into her skull.as she looked at Azman. "Oh no you don't mister....

Again a sad look crossed Azman’s face as he watched the small geisha doll on the table wobbled her head. The look quickly passed.

... I'm not going to let you sit here and break this last little girl's heart. Can't you see she want's you to get out and have fun again."


“Say what you want about men who play with dolls. A man needs to find comfort where he can, all lonesome in his bunk.” Azman gave Alexi and Adrianna a slimly look.

Alexi looked at directly so as that Azman couldn't see and made a face by sticking out her tongue in that Ewww Gross fashion that only a girl can do. Before taking notice that the waitress had arrived again, this time with the forth drink on her list, A World Ender. She took to sip it quietly as she watch Azman slip back into reflection of life, the universe, and everything.

“Thank you.” Azman nodded, getting his drink. “Not that my exploits can measure to your deeds at Sevren of course,” Azman tipped his cup to Adrianna. “Or to your records in Solaris VII” Azman tipped his cup to Alexi. “But we all must be proud at something.”

"I guess, that or... someone to be proud of us, anyway.." she leaned on the table to force the doll into agreement with her.

Azman took a healthy gulp from his cup of milk, leaving a visible milk whisker on his upper lip.

“Hey. I just thought of something! They could nicknamed us the ‘Triple As’. Us three. Azman, Alexi and Adrianna. The ‘Triple As of the Terrors’! ” Azman chuckled at his own joke, taking another gulp, then looked around the bar, wondering.

"Personally I like the idea of finding one more then we could be the "Aces Wild" or the Four Aces of Terror" but hey that's just me." She smiled wide and wildly.


Jon and Gant carefully moved there way between the tables full of patrons finally arriving behind Azman. Jon reached up and tapped Azman on the shoulder.

“Where is everyone?” Jon asked looking around.

Just as the pink bouncing ball of filled with energy, fire, determination and more than a few alcoholic fuels in her to burn at full throttle for most of the night said; "You know what that's IT! Enough of us setting around here feeling sorry for ourselves. You're coming with us." She linked arms with both Azman and Adrianna as she swiped up the doll and handed it lovingly back to Azman. "The commander can find us at the Nexus club. I don't know about the rest you here but Adrianna and I are much too hot not to be out and about on a dance floor. So get off your butts if you want and come join us." she lead the duo towards the door, then let go for a second and hopped back over to the bar and the keeper there of. She slipped him a quick fifty and grabbed the card from behind the bar while he was distracted by her "charms". She turned to the other two that had walked in scant seconds earlier "You two coming or what?" She kicked her heels high behind her then bounded back through the door and linked the couples arms as she lead them off running away with a rebel yell, having conveniently forgotten to pay the some three hundred c-bill tab. and listening intently as Azman continued on.

“Know I’m kinda new to the Terrors and all… but where are the rest of the crew? Beside Thom that is. Are we in the right meeting place? Or… is it by ‘accident’ I’m alone with you two beautiful ladies and we’re getting all drunk on drink and warm company for a reason...” Azman gave the two women a big dumb smile from ear to ear.

Edited by Oni Storm, 21 September 2012 - 09:00 PM.

[Sparks Murphey]

The Raven Loft,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:50 Hours

Adrianna watched Alexi with amusement. Had she ever been that eager and full of vibe? Actually, come to think of it, had she ever not been? Why else was she running around the galaxy driving experimental machines instead of blissfully at home with two point five kids?

Alexi grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door with Azman.

"The commander can find us at the Nexus club. I don't know about the rest you here but Adrianna and I are much too hot not to be out and about on a dance floor. So get off your butts if you want and come join us," Alexi proclaimed, darting back to grab Thom’s card. "You two coming or what?" she added to Jon and Gant.

“Whoa, slow down there, flash,” Adrianna said, slipping out of Alexi’s grasp, “As keen as I am to tear it up with you, Frankfurt’s expecting to find us here, as is everyone else. Besides, what sort of atmosphere are you expecting to find at a club at three in the afternoon? High school kids skipping class and drinking lolly water?”

[Nor Azman]

The Raven Loft,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:50 Hours


Azman grinned liked an ideot, his arm still linked to the beautiful Alexi Alburn. In his ‘close-to-hot-women’ induced euphoria, Azman vaguely registered Jon and Gant joining up.

“Hi Jon and Gant!” Azman, still with an ideot smile, “I am a not man who would hoard the love of beautiful women.” Azman gestured to Adrianna and Alexi. “I believe in groups!”

Azman gave a manly little giggle at the suggestion of the Nexus Club and was willing sheeply to be herded away.

Sparks Murphey, on 21 September 2012 - 06:26 PM, said:

“Whoa, slow down there, flash,” Adrianna said, slipping out of Alexi’s grasp, “As keen as I am to tear it up with you, Frankfurt’s expecting to find us here

Azman gave a grudging nod, dispelling his ‘too-close-to-hot-women’ euphoria. (Which was hard because his arm was still linked to Alexi )

“Madamesel Adrianna is right. Thom may want his group to look tough and presentable here in case he wants to show us off to prospective employers. Do you want to see his face if he finds us near pass drunk, dancing the robot at a club at 3 in the afternoon?”

A slight-of-hand, and a small geisha doll was pressed into Alexi’s hand for her to keep, Azman slipped away. “Even a small doll deserves to be loved.” Azman said quietly to her.

Again Azman smiled broadly at Jon and Gant. “You two looked soaked.” noticing their wet clothes. “Come, order some drinks to warm yourself up. Nothing’s going on right now. Just waiting for Thom. And casing the place, in case us mercs from the lower caste ever plan to rise up in Outreach.” Azman gave an odd look.

“Come, come. Let us plan, plot and possibly scheme, in case Thom’s negotiation with the Rouge’s fall through.” Azman had already his cup of milk in hand. “I hear there’s a hefty bounty on a master thief called Carmen we can look into. Or do you have any hot news of Harlech to share?” Azman smiled with Jon and Gant in some shared conspiracy.

Edited by Nor Azman, 21 September 2012 - 08:34 PM.

[Oni Storm]

The Raven Loft,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:52 Hours

“Whoa, slow down there, flash,” Adrianna said, slipping out of Alexi’s grasp, “As keen as I am to tear it up with you, Frankfurt’s expecting to find us here, as is everyone else. Besides, what sort of atmosphere are you expecting to find at a club at three in the afternoon? High school kids skipping class and drinking lolly water?” Azman gave a grudging nod, “Madamesel Adrianna is right. Thom may want his group to look tough and presentable here in case he wants to show us off to prospective employers. Do you want to see his face if he finds us near pass out, dancing the robot at a club at 3 in the afternoon?”

Alexi stopped and bowed her head with a big sigh and pout; "AAAWWWW pooo You guyz are real killjoys.. you know that??? It's just SOOOOO BOORING HHEEERRREEE...." She whined like a spoiled brat, as she walked back inside, having only just got about three feet from the door. Then she suddenly felt something pressed into her hand, as Azman slipped away. “Even a small doll deserves to be loved.” She looked down a was immediately mesmerized by the little Geisha, scooping it up close and hugging it all cuddlely to her face. Then setting it and herself on the bar, "I shall call you Mei Chan, My beautiful little one, and you shall be the guardian Angel to watch over Wings and I. You would like that wouldn't you?" she lightly bounced on the bar to make the doll nod. "OK!!.. then it's settled. Now then we got you find you some more appropriate clothes. If you're going to hang with me, that is." Alexi scooped up the doll again and asked the bar tender "Hey Pops, Where's the nearest leather store or some place that sells silks? I even give you a peek if it's close and I can get back in time"

Edited by Oni Storm, 21 September 2012 - 09:03 PM.

[G is for Gamma]

The Raven Loft,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 14:50 Hours

El Huevo, was wet. The rain had done a number on his clothes; from his well-worn jeans all the way to his dirty black cowboy hat he was soaked. Unlike his good bud Jon Lee Yu, Garland “Gant” Henderson-Mccoy had chosen not to wear any sort of jacket or coat putting his faith in local weathermen who had sworn that the rain would hold off until the next day. A decision he regretted as the two men entered the bar.

Gant closed the door behind himself, while Jon Lee Yu proceeded to dry his trench coat in the door way. The Kuritian warrior accomplished his goal, more or less, without much effort. The water dripping into the slowly growing pool at the bar’s entrance, however the patting and shaking had caused the handle, or “hilt” as his more refined friend might have called it, to protrude awkwardly from underneath the heavy black trench coat.

Jon caught Gant looking quizzically at the blade, and spat out a sarcastic “What?”

Weapon laws we’re lax on Outreach, the so called “Mercenary World”, El Huevo himself carried a wide bladed bowie knife on his hip, but when it came to their precious “ninja swords” Dracs like Jon we’re an ornery lot to say the least. It was best to just not say anything.

“Nada, amigo.” Gant answered with as much disinterest as his gravelly voice could muster.

Jon shrugged his reply off, if he even heard it over the sound of the bar’s patrons, while he searched the crowd for a friendly face.

“There’s Azman, lets go play nice”

El Huevo chuckled good heartedly.

“When do I ever play ‘nice’?”

The two made their way towards their new “comrades”. Jon walked carefully through the crowd making sure not to disturb other patrons. Gant followed his lead, much less cautiously, spouting off the occasional “Pardon, ‘scuse me.” As he bumped, collided, and shoved his wide shoulders through the path cut in his buddy’s wake. Jon tapped Azman on the shoulders, inquiring as to where the rest of “Thom’s Terrors” were.

Before he could get an answer, the outlandishly pink haired Alexi Auborn demanded that the entire party shift to a different “less boring” local. Luckily for everyone present calmer heads prevailed when the strikingly attractive Adrianna convinced her bratty contemporary to sit back down, despite Alexi’s obvious annoyance.

With the issue settled, for now at least, Azman turned and greeted the late comers a large smile on his face. “You two are soaked.” He motioned for the two men to take seats. “Come, order some drinks to warm yourself up. Nothing’s going on right now. Just waiting for Thom….”

Gant or El Huevo as he had been called since his childhood, ignored the rest of what the cappellen had to say. Until their unit commander showed there was little to do but gossip, swap war stories, and drink, so drink he would. He ordered tequila and a cheap beer, but when he heard Alexi decrying the rest of the parties poor fashion since, he motioned for the barkeep to make the shot a double.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Conference room,
Rogue's Armoured Irregulars Recruitment Offices,
Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:31 Hours

"Late? My dear friend, we know you too well. We told you 1400, and booked the room for 14:30." Grinned Vantas. "In point of fact, you're early." He shot a glance at Sukhanov and cleared his throat, assuming a serious expression and leaning forward. "I must ask you a few questions before I can offer you this job. What assets do you possess? Mechwarriors, mechs, technicians?" He paused for a moment, "I had heard you were a pure mech force, but I must admit my informant was somewhat worse for drink so please list anything else you have. How good are your pilots? How advanced is your tech?" He gave a lopsided smile. "In fact, I need most of the answers you gave to the MRBC earlier."

"Yeah's we's an all mech ting right now." Thom shrugged. "I'ms ahoping to change dat shortly, dis is da right place to hire on some udder guys dough." He paused and smacked his lips like he was thirsty. "We's an under strength company right now, mostly mediums but we's all C3 equipt. Der's some Clan tech floating about too, I'ms sure." He paused not wanting to tell them all the details on his Akuma. "Decent pilots, the all of dem, dey can hold der own too." He parted his hands in a WT F justure. "We's are's kinda hurting on the tech supprot dough. But dat should's achange within da next day or two. But ahere."

He reached into one of the thigh pockets on his cargo pant's and retrieved a small diskette. Upon the top was an iron grey looking double T symbol (Kind of like the Texas Tech symbol), on a black circular field of stars, which he slid acroos the desk to Vantas. "Dat disk got all da details on my merry band of misfits. Names, personal files, gear, well, what dey claim to have anyways. Da whole enchilada, oh yeah's, and I'ms a still running tings out of da 'Pride." Thom added as an afterthought refering to the Union Class Dropship, 'Alchilies Pride' that he had been living on since like forever.

[Hope you don't mind that, Rogue. If you want me to change it, no worries, I will. And if that's the case Thom will be trying to push for transport cost to be covered by the Irregulars.]

"So's do we's have a deal or not?" He leaned back into his chair. "Hopefully's you'll gives us a better rating den that C- them Vat-Brat Dragoon's did. Remember, even the Gray Death Legion had to start somewhere..."

[MacabreDerek]

Sul's Appartment Block C, Room 46-B,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 13:23 Hours

Scrambling through the empty prescription bottles, she shook each one in hopes to hear that soothing clatter of pill against plastic. Juri cursed herself not throwing away the empty containers, but knew better than to advertize to the dumpster divers that there was enough drugs coming in and going out of this room to fill most pharmacies during war times.

Biting hard on her bottom lip, she could feel the tips of her nerves being cradled by fire. Holding back tears, this 'attack' had just started, and wouldn't be over soon. She was in desperate need to take the edge off, and Juri kept catching her eyes float towards her bed where needles and morphine lay ready, calling her to bed with the promise of long forgotten sleep and relief from the torture of breathing.

"No Juri, you can do this. The Morphine is for sleeping, and you got places to be. Can't show up drugged up out of your face and expect them to work with you... Can't expect them to take you seriously."

Reaching for her coat hanging on the door nob, she looked around the apartment. She could be such a slob, but thankfully there were no windows to the dorm, so no one would see the empty bottles of pain killers she had strewn about the place.

In her coat pocket she checked for her chip-card. A slight sigh of relief, as she started to turn the door nob and begin to go on her way. Each step made her want to stumble, but Juri knew she only had to worry about it for the next four or five hours, while she picked up more 'supplies', let them kick in, and wear out the worst of it.

The walking felt like her ankles were shattering with each step.



The Raven Loft,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063, 15:05 Hours

Juri couldn't help but smile. The Raven Loft reminded her of an old Sake bar she was use to frequenting in her cadet days. Her hands stopped shaking as she reached for the door, and stepped inside.

The patrons were a little surprising. It seemed fairly warm and welcoming compared to some of the places on Outreach, but the clientele were fairly rugged of a crowd. It was very off-putting to see this shift, but it wasn't any of her business... Well, not yet anyway.

Taking a few steps to the bar counter, she suddenly felt a stitch in her side, a spasm that threatened to rip the rib right out of it's place in her rib cage. A few deep breaths while holding herself up-right on a chair was all she could do not to make a huge scene.

These kinds of people picked at weakness. Juri never thought of herself as a weak person, in fact any soldier who has spent any time on the front lines has likely taken a life, and out reach was full of those people. The problem were the ones who wanted to boast, pick on the weaker to make a name for themselves, and if they crossed her, it was going to really ruin the evening.

Maybe it would be better if she did play up the 'Unstable Junkie' role, but it would be a lie and a poorly conceived one. It would probably get most to leave her be, but then work would be a problem, and then only the real trouble makers would be wanting her attention, and never in the good ways.

Once she was at the bar, she sat down on the stool. She didn't even register that the bartender was there, simply asking for a glass of water. Rubbing her temples to play up 'a mild headache' excuse, she opened a bottle of over the counter codeine pills. There really wasn't any time to get the good stuff, and she couldn't bring it into the bar and take them out in the open if she did. At least here, so long as no one was paying attention, she'd be able to palm a couple pills every fifteen to twenty minutes.

Opening up the container, she looked inside it and realized she had already gone through a lot more than she wanted. Juri's eyes looked over the patrons seeing what drinks were popular, and then chuckled to herself. "Do not take with Alcohol." It was those small amusements in life that gave her such great joy.

Pretending to yawn, she slipped one of the pills into her lip before the bartender brought back her water. Rubbing her temple again, she just made comment of how it's been a long day at the office, and how she was waiting on some co-workers. Her attire didn't exactly make this story out to be a lie, she was dressed in a business casual style which worked out well in keeping people guessing. Thanking him for the water, she popped two pills in her hand in his plain view, and pretended to fiddle with the lid in closing it while she palmed two more, making it a grand total of five pills in under a minute.

There were going to be alot of small opprotunities to practice those little bits of slight-of-hand to keep going. Hopefully the bottle would last at least another two hours. Doing the math quickly, she bough fourty, took at least twenty on the way here, took five just now, leaving fifteen. Darn it, Juri knew she was taking them too quickly.

Glancing over the bottle of pills that felt woefully low, she read the warning label again. That small amusement would quickly turn into a little irony.

"Beer, Zoom Lite please."

Edited by MacabreDerek, 22 September 2012 - 07:59 PM.

[RogueSpear]

Conference room,
Rogue's Armoured Irregulars Recruitment Offices,
Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:34 Hours

"Calm yourself, my friend." Vantas held up a hand in the universal gesture of 'Shoosh'. "Our mission is very dangerous, I meant no offence by asking about your new friends and equipment." He took the diskette and slid it into the holoprojector in the middle of the table. [[Yes it was always there, and yes I know I forgot to mention it earlier. I was tired, d*mn all your eyes ]] It opened a 2d image, long sheets of technical specifications and bios, he rotated it to face himself and Sukhanov as he continued speaking. "I simply do not wish to hire you for this operation only to find you are ill equipped for it, or supported by fools, or some similar farce and end up getting you killed. It is usually considered terrible taste to get a friend killed, is it not? But it appears you have a good crew. 6 Warriors is not a poor beginning. We Irregulars began with just four, do you remember? And we had no mechs like these," He said, gesturing at the screen, "Just Urbanmechs...ah those were good days. For a given definition of the word 'good'." He grinned widely. "I am sure we can come to an agreement however. I must warn you of a few things however. The first," He began ticking points off on his fingers, eyes still scanning the scrolling text on the projector, "I cannot tell you any specifics of the mission beyond that you will be conducting a smash and grab against hostile assets until we have left. This is a stipulation of our benefactors, and it cannot be broken, I am most sorry to say. That new Centurion does look very nice, by the way. We have been debating looking into Rotary autocannons for some time now. But anyway, warning the second. This will be very dangerous. Very very dangerous. Nothing you personally have not encountered before, as I know first hand," He caught the Thom's eyes quickly, to ensure the other man caught his intent. "But dangerous nonetheless. We have more tricks up our sleeves this time however. Warning the third, you will be operating closely with allied infantry and vehicle assets, who will be allowed to veto your involvement as they have already been hired. Actually, their representative should be here by now, you may remember them, depending on who they send. I really should go and check. Warning the fourth, we leave for the warships tomorrow evening, so you had best acquire your technicians before then. Warning the fifth, I have been told that our ship's kitchens have run out of ice cream, and may not be able to replace it before we leave." He said this last utterly deadpan, in a very serious tone. "Other than that, pay will be fifty thousand C-Bills per mechwarrior per day of combat, plus two hundred thousand per day to your corp as danger pay. Anything you kill is yours to salvage if you can, on the condition that you do not leave behind anything we require you to recover for ourselves in doing so."

Edited by RogueSpear, 18 October 2012 - 01:08 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Conference room,
Rogue's Armoured Irregulars Recruitment Offices,
Mercenary Hall,
Harlech City,
Outreach,
24th February, 3063. 14:39 Hours

"No's ice cream? Oh's man, da girls are gonna be p!ssed." He chuckled then became all buisness, something that very few people ever got to see, and it seemed to always surprise them.

"Da pay is good. Dam*ed good. But a smash a grab? Oh I's don't aknow how good we's be at dis. Dat TR1 is a good mech for something like this, but da rest of us are kinda on da slow side. Well's maybe not da rest of us, but at Akuma I'ms ariding ain't gonna be breaking any land speed records anytime soon. Are we's, by we's I's amean da mechs, supposed to be hauling da, umm... whatever, or is dat a job for da PBI's and vehicles? In which case we're to be holding da objective for long enough for da grunts and treadheads to load up and get out of whatever painful place we'll all find ourselves in? I'ms not trying to's pry or fish for anyting, I's just want to know what my Terrors are supposed to be doing when da lead starts flying."

Thom cracked his knuckles when he finished, thinking about who he may be getting ready to be going round two with. Thom had a long list of enemies, and death was just an occupational hazard.