Proving Grounds,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
April 19th, 11:42 Hours.
Jack jumped
Taysider in a twist with the jump jets and some crazy footwork he'd never quite been able to get right, for the umpteenth time since a Snake had used it against him on the periphery, he used the torso twist of the Urbie to complete the 180 and burn a short bar into the wall, just over a 180m distant with his small laser. Landing midstride, he swept the mech to the left with barely a hitch. 20 years of hard fighting had Jack well able to deal with the balance issues of a minor limp. In rapid succession, he punched holes through the building, the Urbanmech's new AC-10, fitted that morning shaving nearly a full second off the previous load time.
'S nice to hae up tae code equipment. He'd had the older gun for nearly 8 years, it must have been more knocked about than he'd noticed.
Jack sighed. So many things needed to be done differently now he was in normal space. 'Civilized'. In the Periphery, having a working gun made the difference between life and death, not having a new one. Begrudgingly, he was somewhat proud of Dan. The gun now mounted on the Urbanmech certainly needed calibrated, he doubted he could hit the centre torso of a mech reliably, but knocking down walls was no hard task. He made a mental note to get Dan to elaborate - he'd been told a swift tale of how the so new it shone Imperator cannon had been sidetracked from being installed in another mech or found under a tarp or something. Truth be told, Jack had just been astonished at the sight of the weapon mounted in an unarmoured barbette on the side of his mech. Dan had been running diagnostics on the targetting computer, trying to figure out why there were next to no returns on his screen at the time. Something had been muttered about how he didn't need armour yet and to shoo.
It was certainly a strange day for Jack so far.
Sighing, Jack looked to the collection of news vehicles mounted in plain sight along the ridges of the ground. All clicked and whirred as they transmitted pict captures and half hearted monologues from reporters. His radio occasionally beeped as it signalled incoming text transmissions. No doubt more reporters suicidally asking if he'd intended to crush their fellows. Fools didn't even have escorts.
Journalists.
Jack took a sip of the water currently filling his neurohelmet's flasks, by tacit agreement with Von Bremen. His one regret from this whole escapade was not the new weapon, it's unarmoured housing, the lack of whiskey, the newscasters recording his every move, his leg...
It was the bloody stupid rainbow bands painted in a smiley face across his mech.
The Dump,
<Corresponding area, Thom, let me know what to edit this with>,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
April 19th, 13:21 Hours.
Jack wandered into the Dump. Frowning, he looked over it. There were at least a dozen death traps he spotted outright, less if it was a straight one to one, but it was obviously a vicious arena for infighters. Slowly, he began to wander around it, buying a sausage in a bun from an astonishly hopeful vendor. Spitting out a chunk of the unidentified meat, Jack sat in the top tiers, plotting. Eventually, a figure appeared next to him and helped himself to a seat.
"So you're not the Hangman, he was here earlier. But your guard has the same silly band. So who are you?"
Turning to face the oriental, Jack saw a black clad stables guard with a rainbow patch squaring off against another with a blackened hand standing thirty feet above them and cursed his preoccupation.
Why dae ye even care about this c*nt?
"Ah'm the man wha's pumpin' yer ma. Gang awa' wi' ye, *****." He rumbled as the fool went rigid with anger at the gibe.
"Angering me does not bode well for your stablemate."
"Annoying me doesnae dae anythin' fer ye." Jack rolled his head to face the pinched faced 'champion'. "Ah don't know the Hangman, ah'm just keekin' at the arena. If ah wanted tae hae a blether wi' ye, ah'd have telt ye. But ah dinnae. And fae what ah see..." He snorted and hawked a loogie down the stands before him. "G'luck tae ye neighbor."
"Neighbor?" Sneered the oriental. "Isn't the cliché 'friend'?"
Jack shrugged and stood. "Wha' sez yer me friend? Jist mind if'n the Hangman doesnae knock ye down, ye'll be scrappin' Vicious soon enough. An' that..." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Ah've ne'er found one wha' actually expected what he got."
With that he clicked his fingers at the rainbow guard above him and wandered off, ******** *** **** over his shoulder as he cheerfully wandered out.
Rainbow Stables,
'The Grey Room'
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
April 19th, 15:58 Hours.
Jack shifted uncomfortably before the double banners, each depicting linked logos of the five successor states on a flamboyant, multicoloured theme as the young girl fixed his mic. In the last hour he'd been scrubbed down, sobered to the point of Knurd, dressed up, and worst of all, trimmed to perfection. HIs beard was perfectly cropped, despite reaching 6 inches from his face at the lowest point, it gave him the distinct impression of nobility, which coupled with the dress uniform some lunatic had knocked out in the previous day, had Jack worrying.
Erin stood smirking to one side with a glass of wine while she politely disengaged a reporter, her eyes never leaving his face as she looked for a screw up.
Von Bremen flanked him, occasionally muttering advice like 'Stand straight, maintain a constant attitude, ignore any question not on the cards' and 'Don't imagine them in their underwear, if any of them are pretty I don't want to know what you'd do."
A dozen LCAF guards watched the entrances to the room, and from the shiner and vaguely familar face sported by one of the functionaries scurrrying about he assumed the staff were guards to.
He was painfully aware of the fact he had only been allowed to wear a short knife to match his kilt. Finally, the reporters lined up, the cameras whirred, and the annoying rabbit in the suit gave him the thumbs up. Jack looked down at his cards and began his formal apology.
"Uhhhh..." His voice trailed off and he winced.
He gave another false start, and another.
As the cameras transmitted live across the globe, he said, "Ah'm really sorry. I foocked the van 'cos o' a radar error. Uhhhh...Mr. Von Bremen? Ah cannae read 'er writin'." The neatly trimmed beard twisted in embarassment as he held up the cards. "Help?"
Cherry Babies Strip Club,
International Zone,
Solaris City, Solaris VII,
20:58 hours.
Jack heaved a sigh of relief as he entered the house of negotiable affection. Despite the quartet of guards his earlier embarassment had earned him as Von Bremen grumpily decided to ascertain he wasn't trying to ruin the stable's reputation again, he was feeling much better just for being near semi naked women and a live bar. He found it reassuring that despite his unexpected friendliness to the Capellan that his superiors still thought he was trying to ruin them. Certainly not his proudest moment, but he found it amusing they would rather believe he was a petty dick than that he couldn't read.
Right up until he thought that of course.
Moodily, he supped at his ale as the four guards stood at attention behind him and a nubile young lady rubbed up against him with a 100 C-Bill note in the horizontal lower crux of her panties. Even getting away with that didn't cheer him up as the lights fell. On the stage several women wandered out. An hour later, Jack was no longer moody, two birthday-suited women with not unrespectable racks pressed tightly to each other in the center stage. Blinking, Jack realized his leg was no longer what was being rubbed up against, and that he had been holding his mug in silence for at least twenty minutes.
Staring into the somewhat ignored lady's eyes as she moved to cushion him between her ample assets, he soothed his parched throat with a swallow of the thick booze.
"So, want tae be takin' this to a backroom and help me stroke off?"
Edited by RogueSpear, 13 July 2012 - 06:32 AM.