Noah squints up at Taipan in mock suspicion. "I don't remember you being so friendly." His gaze floats down to Taipan's mid-section. "Or so... substantial. You put on some weight?"
Noah takes a sip from his freshly-revitalized cocktail. "I like the katana though. Very kakoi." He giggles, takes another sip and indulges in a long drag on the Alpaca. He leans backwards in the stool, engaging in a parlous balancing act. An eyebrow raises as Noah examines the rest of the team over Taipan's shoulder. "That's quite the posse you've wrangled, Kiyoshi. Isn't truancy a misdemeanor? Might want to warn your high school lady friend."
"Oy!" Noah calls to Mouse. "It's not Spring break yet, who is going to run the chess club?" Another giggle.
Noah shifts his weight and the stool thumps against the bar. He exhales through his nostrils. "You gonna tell me what you're doing in the Free state or is it need-to-know?"
Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Taipan looks furtively down at his mid-section. Frag. Was it that noticeable?
Taipan closes his eyes and cycles a slow breath, casting a glance over his shoulder at the ragtag group of runners behind him.
"We're both professionals." Taipan's hand darts like a striking snake to seize Noah's collar. "Our business in Free Cal isn't yours. That answer your question? I'd expect you'd know better than to ask." he asks firmly.
Taipan closes his eyes and cycles a slow breath, casting a glance over his shoulder at the ragtag group of runners behind him.
"We're both professionals." Taipan's hand darts like a striking snake to seize Noah's collar. "Our business in Free Cal isn't yours. That answer your question? I'd expect you'd know better than to ask." he asks firmly.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Yung appraises the atmosphere of the pseudo-discotheque, in any other circumstance it might be considered a place to spend some carefree time dancing; popping and locking to the bass. But for some reason at this moment it assails his senses in all the wrong ways. Perhaps it's the overabundance of smoke, but more likely the oppressive feeling that this place is the apex of countless poor life decisions.
Hopefully we're not adding to the list.
"Oye, I gonna run and get some drek. Dunno about you, but I didn't come prepared for a night in the bush, eh? If anyone need anything, lemme know ne? Looks like Papa got dis under control." Yung appraises his companions before turning back toward the saloon doors of the 24 Happy Hour.
Stepping outside Yung performs a quick Matrix search, locating a nearby store. Sargent Sam's Surplus
Perfect.
He makes his way to the destination, creating an AR list of supplies before he arrives.
Armored jacket
Hiking boots
Dry pack
Rations (30)
Sleeping Bag
Tent
That should do it.
He arrives at Sargent Sam's Surplus, quickly gathering the supplies and paying the clerk with a certified credstick. He packs the gear into the dry pack before making his way back to the 24 Happy Hour.
Hopefully we're not adding to the list.
"Oye, I gonna run and get some drek. Dunno about you, but I didn't come prepared for a night in the bush, eh? If anyone need anything, lemme know ne? Looks like Papa got dis under control." Yung appraises his companions before turning back toward the saloon doors of the 24 Happy Hour.
Stepping outside Yung performs a quick Matrix search, locating a nearby store. Sargent Sam's Surplus
Perfect.
He makes his way to the destination, creating an AR list of supplies before he arrives.
Armored jacket
Hiking boots
Dry pack
Rations (30)
Sleeping Bag
Tent
That should do it.
He arrives at Sargent Sam's Surplus, quickly gathering the supplies and paying the clerk with a certified credstick. He packs the gear into the dry pack before making his way back to the 24 Happy Hour.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Noah doesn't flinch at Taipan's aggression but frowns instead. "Yamate, Kiyoshi. This is a genuine Vashon Island-- if there are any tears I'll increase my rates on you. I see you've gained weight but lost your patience. Fair enough." He pantomimes turning a key in front of his mouth and dropping it in his breast pocket. "Mums the word, chummer."
The Alpaca flares as Noah sucks on it. His gaze is directed over Taipan, seemingly locked on Reiya. "Your friends look fun. I have a good feeling about this trip. Speaking of which, you have any outstanding business here in Boise or shall we catch that train?"
The Alpaca flares as Noah sucks on it. His gaze is directed over Taipan, seemingly locked on Reiya. "Your friends look fun. I have a good feeling about this trip. Speaking of which, you have any outstanding business here in Boise or shall we catch that train?"
-
Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Axel finishes securing the van and its contents. Years of scavenging have taught him that as shitty a vehicle as the Vantichrist is, it still looks like a high-value target to the right eyes. A habit of leaving his collection of drones (a murder? A drove? Maybe a parliament?) on sentry mode to provide a nasty surprise to any would-be thief sets his mind at ease.
He exchanges glances with Yung, who at this point appears to be leaving the bar. He pauses briefly, wondering whether to follow or inquire about the man's exit. Sooner or later, you're going to have to trust these people enough to realize that their behavior sometimes borders on the rational. He nods his head, and continues into the bar.
His boots move haltingly across the floor, each step making a *shclick* sound as the fossil record of booze tries to mire his feet like a tar pit collecting dinosaurs. Flypaper for alcoholics and the terminally bored. The bright side is that this is the sort of establishment that Axel thrives in. The lighting is just bright enough to know who you're talking to, but the cranked up noise covers up conversations, and distracts the other patrons like so much chaff and flare. With the right mindset, this is the kind of place one can move through without being noticed, yet also not blind to the people and events around you.
He spots Taipan in conversation with an animated man who seems to be addressing the older merc with an interesting familiarity. The man wears a smile like a mask. Taipan's face is simply a mask to the rigger. Some history here?
The stranger has turned his body to the side to better face Taipan, and so Axel slips into the seat at the bar beside (and now behind) the man, but shows no indication that his business is with either man engrossed in their conversation. He raises one finger in the ad hoc sign language of loud establishments to ask the bartender for one of whatever's closest to hand.
He exchanges glances with Yung, who at this point appears to be leaving the bar. He pauses briefly, wondering whether to follow or inquire about the man's exit. Sooner or later, you're going to have to trust these people enough to realize that their behavior sometimes borders on the rational. He nods his head, and continues into the bar.
His boots move haltingly across the floor, each step making a *shclick* sound as the fossil record of booze tries to mire his feet like a tar pit collecting dinosaurs. Flypaper for alcoholics and the terminally bored. The bright side is that this is the sort of establishment that Axel thrives in. The lighting is just bright enough to know who you're talking to, but the cranked up noise covers up conversations, and distracts the other patrons like so much chaff and flare. With the right mindset, this is the kind of place one can move through without being noticed, yet also not blind to the people and events around you.
He spots Taipan in conversation with an animated man who seems to be addressing the older merc with an interesting familiarity. The man wears a smile like a mask. Taipan's face is simply a mask to the rigger. Some history here?
The stranger has turned his body to the side to better face Taipan, and so Axel slips into the seat at the bar beside (and now behind) the man, but shows no indication that his business is with either man engrossed in their conversation. He raises one finger in the ad hoc sign language of loud establishments to ask the bartender for one of whatever's closest to hand.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The bartender seems to notice the sudden arrival of an unusually large number of patrons just as Axel takes his seat. Her expression rapidly transforms from one of confusion to one of glee, that mercantile region of the cerebrum flooded with neuro-transmitters-- the capitalist orgasm. She nods at Axel and rapidly pours a double Suntory Banzai whisky. Afterwards the bartender fixes her hungry gaze on the other new customers, her body arranged in a service industry contrapposto, poised to tend to their desires.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Taipan sighs, his cheeks coloring slightly in embarrassment as he slowly relaxes his grip on the smuggler's shirt. The man wasn't wrong. Taipan didn't have the same control he'd prided himself on for so long, that discipline he'd spent years honing through corporate indoctrination, meditation and spiritual contemplation. Sometimes, it felt like it was all coming apart, and the grief and rage occasionally breached the surface of his calm.
"Please accept my apology. Seeing you just reminds of me of-- I mean, do you know how--" He smooths the man's jacket back to a modicum of the already rumpled state it was in prior to his intervention. He hesitates a moment before shaking his head, his voice quavering slightly with tightly controlled emotion "It's been a trying time, and I should not take it out on you."
Still trying to tamp down the emotions that seeing Noah has dug up, Taipan peers around at the rest of the runners and catches the bartender setting a dark-colored spirit down in front of Axel. When spirituality fails, at least there are spirits. He raises his hand toward the bartender and points to the drink and to himself. "Share a drink with me. Then we should go."
"Please accept my apology. Seeing you just reminds of me of-- I mean, do you know how--" He smooths the man's jacket back to a modicum of the already rumpled state it was in prior to his intervention. He hesitates a moment before shaking his head, his voice quavering slightly with tightly controlled emotion "It's been a trying time, and I should not take it out on you."
Still trying to tamp down the emotions that seeing Noah has dug up, Taipan peers around at the rest of the runners and catches the bartender setting a dark-colored spirit down in front of Axel. When spirituality fails, at least there are spirits. He raises his hand toward the bartender and points to the drink and to himself. "Share a drink with me. Then we should go."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The silence is deafening. Companions without a common cause, complete lack of direction or anything resembling comradery.
We’re fragged.
Yung stops for a minute on his return journey to the 24 Happy Hour. His gaze wanders toward the gaudy holograms, illusions portenting an impossible future for innumerable wayward travelers. Alone in the night, a specter haunting unfamiliar territory; the moment proves too much. With no audience there is no performance, save catharsis.
Yung falls to his knees, gazing up at the neon gods of Boise. The one universal constant, gravity, pulling tears down his cheeks.
What am I doing here?
He is overcome with an irrepressible nostalgia. A longing for something intangible, a memory. To be held, embraced, by someone who truly understands what matters. The emotions become uncontrollable. He buckles over, arms across his abdomen, sobbing alone in the darkness.
We’re fragged.
Yung stops for a minute on his return journey to the 24 Happy Hour. His gaze wanders toward the gaudy holograms, illusions portenting an impossible future for innumerable wayward travelers. Alone in the night, a specter haunting unfamiliar territory; the moment proves too much. With no audience there is no performance, save catharsis.
Yung falls to his knees, gazing up at the neon gods of Boise. The one universal constant, gravity, pulling tears down his cheeks.
What am I doing here?
He is overcome with an irrepressible nostalgia. A longing for something intangible, a memory. To be held, embraced, by someone who truly understands what matters. The emotions become uncontrollable. He buckles over, arms across his abdomen, sobbing alone in the darkness.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
After 8 hours in a dirty van, spent banging her digital head against corporate astroturfing, accompanied by the sound of Queen’s Greatest Hits and a queasy shaman, one thing is clear: that was the more pleasant part of the trip.
It’s not Noah’s sick burn that etches itself into a nerve, but rather, his Giggle. Mouse has already written him off as one of those guys: the kind of mediocre human guy who’s so enamored with himself that he has to ruin a perfectly good silence laughing at his own jokes.
Rather than respond in kind, she takes the opportunity to observe Taipan’s methods, and the gruff but efficient way he maneuvers through the more irritating obstacle to their biz. After all, at some point during this job, there’s a non-zero chance the street sam may have to speak for them in some capacity. Yung, for all his charms, is likely to be written off as merely Gaijin at best, and Chon at worst, while Mouse herself would be a gross biological mistake. Only Taipan has the dubious honor of being able to "pass" undisguised under the Saito regime.
She hopes it doesn’t come to that.
Still, she tilts her head back toward the other two metas, “THIS MIGHT BE OUR LAST CHANCE TO SHOW OUR FACES FOR A WHILE. LET ME BUY US A ROUND.” The words are distinctly unfamiliar to her, and much to her chagrin, she catches herself double checking the birthdate on her own SIN. There’s also the fact that, at least from her view, all these bottles look identical to her- a fact she attempts to offset with a shrug and feigned nonchalance. “JUST PICK YOUR POISON.”
It’s not Noah’s sick burn that etches itself into a nerve, but rather, his Giggle. Mouse has already written him off as one of those guys: the kind of mediocre human guy who’s so enamored with himself that he has to ruin a perfectly good silence laughing at his own jokes.
Rather than respond in kind, she takes the opportunity to observe Taipan’s methods, and the gruff but efficient way he maneuvers through the more irritating obstacle to their biz. After all, at some point during this job, there’s a non-zero chance the street sam may have to speak for them in some capacity. Yung, for all his charms, is likely to be written off as merely Gaijin at best, and Chon at worst, while Mouse herself would be a gross biological mistake. Only Taipan has the dubious honor of being able to "pass" undisguised under the Saito regime.
She hopes it doesn’t come to that.
Still, she tilts her head back toward the other two metas, “THIS MIGHT BE OUR LAST CHANCE TO SHOW OUR FACES FOR A WHILE. LET ME BUY US A ROUND.” The words are distinctly unfamiliar to her, and much to her chagrin, she catches herself double checking the birthdate on her own SIN. There’s also the fact that, at least from her view, all these bottles look identical to her- a fact she attempts to offset with a shrug and feigned nonchalance. “JUST PICK YOUR POISON.”
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Noah's eyes brighten at the suggestion of sharing a drink. He seems even more enthusiastic after Mouse's offer of a round.
"Fortunately for you my affections are easily purchased with libations." Noah taps the bar and the bartender mixes what looks to be his fifth cocktail. He finally stubs out the depleted Alpaca and reaches for another from a pack on the bar.
"Your friends sure are quiet," Noah says. He peers curiously at Reiya and Mick, who are still standing near the entrance. "Maybe some liquid courage will rally them for our grand adventure. Come drink with us la--" he falters as he inspects Mick more closely. Something like recognition, or perhaps relation lurks behind his expression. "Come drink with us, chummers!"
"Fortunately for you my affections are easily purchased with libations." Noah taps the bar and the bartender mixes what looks to be his fifth cocktail. He finally stubs out the depleted Alpaca and reaches for another from a pack on the bar.
"Your friends sure are quiet," Noah says. He peers curiously at Reiya and Mick, who are still standing near the entrance. "Maybe some liquid courage will rally them for our grand adventure. Come drink with us la--" he falters as he inspects Mick more closely. Something like recognition, or perhaps relation lurks behind his expression. "Come drink with us, chummers!"
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
“FRAAAG. I DIDN’T WANT YOUR AFFECTIONS.” Her brow furrows slightly, and she shoots Taipan a regretful look, not wanting to know what shenanigans she’s just enabled. While she had intended the drinks more for the team, moreso the ones who’ll be facing down a racist empire, she’s forced to admit that at least temporarily, Noah is part of the ‘team’ too. She sighs, taking a seat herself. “BUT IF IT GETS YOU TO LAY OFF THE JOSHI KOSEI DREK, IT’S WORTH IT.”
She swivels her head back to the others. “WELL?” she prompts, having resigned herself to spending out of her more-metal-drek-in-her-head savings, but moreso, curious as to what they’d drink themselves… if only so she can piggy-back off of their order and make it look natural.
She swivels her head back to the others. “WELL?” she prompts, having resigned herself to spending out of her more-metal-drek-in-her-head savings, but moreso, curious as to what they’d drink themselves… if only so she can piggy-back off of their order and make it look natural.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Reiya rolls her eyes at Noah’s curiosity and interest, not deigning to answer it with any words…yet. It’s taken her this long to recover from the motion sickness. If she hadn’t spent so much time in wolf-form during their foray into Bongoland, she may have gone wolf and run alongside the Vantichrist instead. She’s keeping it as an option, of course, but she knows she’s likely the only one of the crew who’s pleased to be going into Free Cal on foot.
With Mouse’s second invitation, Reiya feels she might as well oblige and get herself a drink. She orders her usual whiskey, watching the bartender speculatively as her drink is poured and served. The shaman gives her a small smile, downs her drink, and nods briefly to Noah and Mouse. “Stepping outside for a minute. Call if you need me.”
Reiya exits the saloon-style doors and breathes the fresh(ish) air. She could really use some food, maybe restock her supply of snacks. She wonders where Yung went off to and if she should go find him. She takes a few steps and, as if she conjured the man, he’s there, but not in his usual guise. On the ground, sobbing soundlessly, arms around himself in the travesty of a hug, Akela is clearly beside himself.
Reiya’s heart goes out in sympathy; she’s been there before. She doesn’t know the circumstances, but she doesn’t need to. Another member of their ill-assorted group, and she may have passed by in silence, but Akela has been kind, and she belatedly recalls his efforts to bring the group together, however ineffectual so far. Perhaps it’s time to respond.
She walks forward slowly, making no effort to hide her steps; Yung is still a dangerous and well-armed fighter, after all. “Hey,” she says softly. “I don’t know what’s up, and I’m not asking. But I know grief better than I know myself, and I am here.” She sits down nearby, close not touching, and waits, inviting her own grief to join them.
With Mouse’s second invitation, Reiya feels she might as well oblige and get herself a drink. She orders her usual whiskey, watching the bartender speculatively as her drink is poured and served. The shaman gives her a small smile, downs her drink, and nods briefly to Noah and Mouse. “Stepping outside for a minute. Call if you need me.”
Reiya exits the saloon-style doors and breathes the fresh(ish) air. She could really use some food, maybe restock her supply of snacks. She wonders where Yung went off to and if she should go find him. She takes a few steps and, as if she conjured the man, he’s there, but not in his usual guise. On the ground, sobbing soundlessly, arms around himself in the travesty of a hug, Akela is clearly beside himself.
Reiya’s heart goes out in sympathy; she’s been there before. She doesn’t know the circumstances, but she doesn’t need to. Another member of their ill-assorted group, and she may have passed by in silence, but Akela has been kind, and she belatedly recalls his efforts to bring the group together, however ineffectual so far. Perhaps it’s time to respond.
She walks forward slowly, making no effort to hide her steps; Yung is still a dangerous and well-armed fighter, after all. “Hey,” she says softly. “I don’t know what’s up, and I’m not asking. But I know grief better than I know myself, and I am here.” She sits down nearby, close not touching, and waits, inviting her own grief to join them.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Yung stops moving at the sound of the familiar voice, before feigning a cough and unwrapping his arms and placing his hands palm down on the ground; arching his back in a mock cat yoga pose.
“It would be you, no doubt, no doubt.” He lifts a hand and reaches into the pocket of his coat, producing his all too familiar glasses, donning them before lifting his gaze to meet Reiya.
Yung pushes off the ground with his other hand, rocking back on his haunches and draping his arms over his knees. “Maybe it was something I ate, eh? Wouldn’t be a good time to get sick.”
Even though his eyes are shielded from the gaze of the Shamaness, he can’t help but feel naked, exposed. He averts his eyes, ashamed of his ridiculous attempt at deflection.
“You know it well then? Lo siento. This isn’t a feeling I’d wish on anyone, even my enemies, if I had any.” Yung makes a lame attempt at a smile after the quip.
“I’m just not used to feeling powerless, ain’t nothing can be done, not by me anyway. Wouldn’t expect you to know about that though.” Yung shakes off his pants and wipes the imagined dirt off of his shoulders. He takes a deep controlled breath, exhaling slowly and deliberately. Grabbing the lapels of his great coat Yung pulls them taut before returning his gaze to Reiya.
He removes his glasses and for the first time Reiya can actually see Yung. No cocky bravado, no gushing gregariousness, just a man; young and vulnerable, like a puppy, who seems to be carrying a great weight. At that moment he is the complete opposite of the persona he so easily projects. “Anyway, hey, I appreciate the concern; but maybe we keep this between the two of us, yeah? I think it’s better if we get back to the group, it’s easier for me that way.” He says, replacing the glasses over his eyes. “Maybe sometime we can spit the truth.”
“It would be you, no doubt, no doubt.” He lifts a hand and reaches into the pocket of his coat, producing his all too familiar glasses, donning them before lifting his gaze to meet Reiya.
Yung pushes off the ground with his other hand, rocking back on his haunches and draping his arms over his knees. “Maybe it was something I ate, eh? Wouldn’t be a good time to get sick.”
Even though his eyes are shielded from the gaze of the Shamaness, he can’t help but feel naked, exposed. He averts his eyes, ashamed of his ridiculous attempt at deflection.
“You know it well then? Lo siento. This isn’t a feeling I’d wish on anyone, even my enemies, if I had any.” Yung makes a lame attempt at a smile after the quip.
“I’m just not used to feeling powerless, ain’t nothing can be done, not by me anyway. Wouldn’t expect you to know about that though.” Yung shakes off his pants and wipes the imagined dirt off of his shoulders. He takes a deep controlled breath, exhaling slowly and deliberately. Grabbing the lapels of his great coat Yung pulls them taut before returning his gaze to Reiya.
He removes his glasses and for the first time Reiya can actually see Yung. No cocky bravado, no gushing gregariousness, just a man; young and vulnerable, like a puppy, who seems to be carrying a great weight. At that moment he is the complete opposite of the persona he so easily projects. “Anyway, hey, I appreciate the concern; but maybe we keep this between the two of us, yeah? I think it’s better if we get back to the group, it’s easier for me that way.” He says, replacing the glasses over his eyes. “Maybe sometime we can spit the truth.”
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Noah clinks his glass against Taipan's. "You know why I like you, Kiyoshi? You're respectful-- a proper gentleman. That's what this shitty world needs, you know? Instead it's filled with..." He gestures vaguely towards the civilians tucked away in the miasma of tobacco smoke. "I know the world has always been dog-eat-dog, but at least at one point people cared about chivalry."
An awkward silence overtakes the space as the music dies down. Noah's sigh is audible over the creaks of bar stools and the clinking of glassware. The brief reprieve is evanescent as the wailing synthesizer intro of The Glam Dolls' No Time For Lovin follows. Noah sighs again, exhaling smoke. If he's inebriated, it doesn't show.
"Since we'll be sharing a suite on the Sierra, I figured we should at least be acquainted. You want to introduce me to your friends?"
An awkward silence overtakes the space as the music dies down. Noah's sigh is audible over the creaks of bar stools and the clinking of glassware. The brief reprieve is evanescent as the wailing synthesizer intro of The Glam Dolls' No Time For Lovin follows. Noah sighs again, exhaling smoke. If he's inebriated, it doesn't show.
"Since we'll be sharing a suite on the Sierra, I figured we should at least be acquainted. You want to introduce me to your friends?"
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Reiya listens to Yung and nods her assent to his request for silence and suggestion of exchanging stories sometime in the nebulous future. She'd feel exactly the same way. "Sure," she replies to both questions as she stands up, adding a smile smile, before they head back to join the rest of their motley crew.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Taipan catches the look Mouse darts him after Noah's comment about purchasing his affections. He shrugs almost apologetically with a look to say 'what you see is what you get,' though a tiny smile plays at the corners of his lips.
Taipan clinks his glass softly against Noah's and takes a judicious sip before setting it down on the bar. He snorts in mild amusement, "Well, I'm sure you'll find in the coming days that some are quieter than others."
He casts his gaze at Reiya's departing back, coloring slightly at the memory of her bounding into the Vantichrist in her birthday suit.
That would probably result in some attention from Noah that she would rather go without. "The Amerind is Reiya."
He leans closer to Noah conspiratorially, "She bites,"he warns with actual gravitas.
He gestures toward the decker. "The one you've to thank for your drink here is Mouse. She's our expert on the technical side." He looks across to Noah's other flank, gesturing to Axel. "Axel. Wheelman, mechanic, drone pilot."
He swivels in his seat to peer over at the lantern-jawed Troll, who appears to have finished their drink in two pulls. "That's Thoryne," he pauses to smirk, "you can probably work out the rest." Nodding over to the ork, he says "Mick." He looks gravely at Noah. "Don't start any barfights with him on the opposite side."
He frowns, peering through the strobing smoke, a buzz already creeping in from his half-finished cocktail. "He must've stepped out, but the kid is Yung." He grins at Noah, clearly proud to have made such a funny joke. "Talks a lot."
Taipan clinks his glass softly against Noah's and takes a judicious sip before setting it down on the bar. He snorts in mild amusement, "Well, I'm sure you'll find in the coming days that some are quieter than others."
He casts his gaze at Reiya's departing back, coloring slightly at the memory of her bounding into the Vantichrist in her birthday suit.
That would probably result in some attention from Noah that she would rather go without. "The Amerind is Reiya."
He leans closer to Noah conspiratorially, "She bites,"he warns with actual gravitas.
He gestures toward the decker. "The one you've to thank for your drink here is Mouse. She's our expert on the technical side." He looks across to Noah's other flank, gesturing to Axel. "Axel. Wheelman, mechanic, drone pilot."
He swivels in his seat to peer over at the lantern-jawed Troll, who appears to have finished their drink in two pulls. "That's Thoryne," he pauses to smirk, "you can probably work out the rest." Nodding over to the ork, he says "Mick." He looks gravely at Noah. "Don't start any barfights with him on the opposite side."
He frowns, peering through the strobing smoke, a buzz already creeping in from his half-finished cocktail. "He must've stepped out, but the kid is Yung." He grins at Noah, clearly proud to have made such a funny joke. "Talks a lot."
Last edited by Stephen on Wed Dec 08, 2021 2:03 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
(( I'm just going to post like I haven't been absent for the last week. ))
Mick slips their hand around five fingers of whiskey in a dingy beer stein, which they had at least been respectful enough of Mouse to order from the bottom shelf. Toasting with the decker, Mick suggests, "To our life choices." A slug later, only three fingers remain.
Setting the drink back down on the warped, fly paper-like bartop, Mick regards the decker more earnestly. The tiny elf is really not so much smaller than Mick, but Mouse's obvious comparative frailty engenders an eagerness to protect her in places like these. "Hey, I know we don't really, uh..." Mick's words fail them. Moments like these had never been their strong suit. "I'm good at dealing with shitheads. Might not be good at much else, but I've been putting them where they belong all my life." The ork searches, wishing they could see Mouse's human eyes. "Look, I want you to know that I'll handle it. If somebody fucks with you. You don't need to worry. I've got it." Mick manages to sputter out their last few sentence fragments in increasingly strained words, hoping that their sincerity isn't lost in the blear of their social struggles.
Mick slips their hand around five fingers of whiskey in a dingy beer stein, which they had at least been respectful enough of Mouse to order from the bottom shelf. Toasting with the decker, Mick suggests, "To our life choices." A slug later, only three fingers remain.
Setting the drink back down on the warped, fly paper-like bartop, Mick regards the decker more earnestly. The tiny elf is really not so much smaller than Mick, but Mouse's obvious comparative frailty engenders an eagerness to protect her in places like these. "Hey, I know we don't really, uh..." Mick's words fail them. Moments like these had never been their strong suit. "I'm good at dealing with shitheads. Might not be good at much else, but I've been putting them where they belong all my life." The ork searches, wishing they could see Mouse's human eyes. "Look, I want you to know that I'll handle it. If somebody fucks with you. You don't need to worry. I've got it." Mick manages to sputter out their last few sentence fragments in increasingly strained words, hoping that their sincerity isn't lost in the blear of their social struggles.
-
Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Axel lifts his glass to his lips and closes his eyes as the liquor warms him within and dissolves any doubts he might have harbored about this sketchy bar in god-forsaken Boise. After all, what could be so bad about a place that is willing to make a Mai Tai exactly like Axel likes it: with extra umbrellas. He pulls himself away from his sensory study of sweet-and-sour inebriation at the mention of his name.
"Ah, you must be Noah," he says, thrusting his drink toward the man's chest as if in demonstration. The drink miraculously stays within the confines of its glass. "Taking us the rest of the way? Hope you got room for a few of my little friends."
Axel tries to tamp down a petulant professional jealousy over being relegated to second fiddle for the team's transportation.
"Ah, you must be Noah," he says, thrusting his drink toward the man's chest as if in demonstration. The drink miraculously stays within the confines of its glass. "Taking us the rest of the way? Hope you got room for a few of my little friends."
Axel tries to tamp down a petulant professional jealousy over being relegated to second fiddle for the team's transportation.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Yung and Reiya walk wordlessly back to the 24 Happy Hour, a brief moment of hesitation outside the saloon doors as they silently exchange a knowing look to each other. Yung grabs the tops of both doors and pushes them open as he strides through the threshold, an actor boldly joining the scene from stage left.
Everyone seems to be in various stages of comfort at the bar, an unanticipated surprise. Yung half expected at least a few of the crew to still be mingling in the entryway. On the contrary, they all seem rather at home in this lounge of lost souls; it makes sense in a way.
Axel is waving an umbrella laden drink as a conductor would lead an orchestra, engaging the unfamiliar acquaintance in conversation. Taipan enjoys some kind of cocktail, apparently comfortable enough with either the crew or his contact to graduate from the light beer. Perhaps most surprising is Mick and Mouse, who seem to be actually having a conversation; which by all appearances is as awkward as a pair of middle schoolers that have a crush on one another.
Yung janders across the room seemingly unimpeded by the gummy parquet floor, toward the unknown acquaintance. “Oye, dis must be the guy, eh? Taipan you never said he had such style, Vashion Island, looking chill omae, I almost got that same suit myself. Name’s Akela, and the old man here says you’re the best.” Yung produces his pocket watch, an anachronistic gesture surely meant to draw attention to the watch, rather than actually know the time. “Anyway, what’s the word, we gonna get this show on the road, or get trapped in purgatory in dis place?”
Everyone seems to be in various stages of comfort at the bar, an unanticipated surprise. Yung half expected at least a few of the crew to still be mingling in the entryway. On the contrary, they all seem rather at home in this lounge of lost souls; it makes sense in a way.
Axel is waving an umbrella laden drink as a conductor would lead an orchestra, engaging the unfamiliar acquaintance in conversation. Taipan enjoys some kind of cocktail, apparently comfortable enough with either the crew or his contact to graduate from the light beer. Perhaps most surprising is Mick and Mouse, who seem to be actually having a conversation; which by all appearances is as awkward as a pair of middle schoolers that have a crush on one another.
Yung janders across the room seemingly unimpeded by the gummy parquet floor, toward the unknown acquaintance. “Oye, dis must be the guy, eh? Taipan you never said he had such style, Vashion Island, looking chill omae, I almost got that same suit myself. Name’s Akela, and the old man here says you’re the best.” Yung produces his pocket watch, an anachronistic gesture surely meant to draw attention to the watch, rather than actually know the time. “Anyway, what’s the word, we gonna get this show on the road, or get trapped in purgatory in dis place?”
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Noah's eyes sweep over Axel. "If by little friends you mean drones, I brought a few extra suitcases. You'll need to stow them and your larger weapons on the mag-lev; anything you can confidently conceal is fine, but if you get caught they'll throw you off at the next stop." He taps Taipan's sheathe. "If you put a peace-tie on this, or wrap it up, they probably won't give you any guff. I see First Nation folk with wrapped weapons all the time."
Noah blinks as Yung delivers his greeting. He turns to Taipan with an incredulous look. "The best, huh? Seems I made an impression." The coyote downs the remainder of his cocktail and rubs his hands together. "I'm ready to head out when your people are, Kiyoshi."
Noah blinks as Yung delivers his greeting. He turns to Taipan with an incredulous look. "The best, huh? Seems I made an impression." The coyote downs the remainder of his cocktail and rubs his hands together. "I'm ready to head out when your people are, Kiyoshi."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The choice of toast seems particularly apt as Mouse stares down into her waiting glass of amber liquid. For her efforts to ingratiate herself with the cool kids, as she casually mirrored Reiya’s order for herself, she’s earned herself what appears to be, at least from the smell, a glass of some kind of pine-based cleaning solution and gasoline. Sure, it’s not the most dubious thing she’s ingested, but it’s hardly appealing.
But with a toast like that, she can hardly refuse. She removes her mask and raises her glass, committing to yet another poor life choice, and takes a swig. She scrunches her eyes shut as the whiskey passes her lips, leaving an aftertaste of medicine and fire. Fighting every instinct in her body, she does not, in fact, spit it back into the glass, but forces it down, letting the drink bloom into a more pleasant warmth across her chest.
The words tumble from the orc, their meaning and cadence almost disjointed by comparison to the other members of the team. Still, the more Mick speaks, the more visibly comforted Mouse seems to be by their presence. While Mick had been a glaring unknown variable in the decker’s equations, this awkwardness, the mental effort of piecing words together from brain to meat-mouth, is something Mouse understands at a pure, intuitive level. There’s a reason, after all, that she’s built herself a workaround.
Of course, there’s the matter of what Mick’s actually saying- and the dawning realization that the little elf has unintentionally drawn in another protector. Whether from the booze or the revelation, a flush starts to blossom across her cheeks. “REALLY? YOU’D THINK ASSHOLES WOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO MESS WITH YOU.” There’s no irony in her speech as she says this. If anything, Mick seems to have cultivated a resting ‘fuck-off’ face she could stand to emulate.
“I REALLY DO LOOK LIKE SOME PATHETIC LITTLE CINNAMON ROLL, HUH?” She finds herself reaching for the drink again, this time steeling herself for the immediate hit. “BUT I APPRECIATE THE OFFER. SERIOUSLY.”
In her attempt to project sincerity, and to square this newfound understanding with her previous assessments of her teammate, she forces herself to try and meet Mick’s gaze. “I’D OFFER THE SAME, THOUGH YOUR WAY OF HANDLING THINGS IS PROBABLY MORE EFFICIENT.” She pauses to consider this, a smile creeping across her lips. “UNLESS SOME DREKBAG STARTS SENDING YOU UNSOLICITED MEAT PICS. THAT, I CAN HANDLE.”
She glances over at her teammates, who are in varying stages of finished with their glasses. Silently cursing her speed, she tips back the rest of hers, pulling the glass away with a sharp cough. She wipes her mouth on a sleeve and replaces her mask- a flimsy disguise against the creeping ‘glow’ beneath.
But with a toast like that, she can hardly refuse. She removes her mask and raises her glass, committing to yet another poor life choice, and takes a swig. She scrunches her eyes shut as the whiskey passes her lips, leaving an aftertaste of medicine and fire. Fighting every instinct in her body, she does not, in fact, spit it back into the glass, but forces it down, letting the drink bloom into a more pleasant warmth across her chest.
The words tumble from the orc, their meaning and cadence almost disjointed by comparison to the other members of the team. Still, the more Mick speaks, the more visibly comforted Mouse seems to be by their presence. While Mick had been a glaring unknown variable in the decker’s equations, this awkwardness, the mental effort of piecing words together from brain to meat-mouth, is something Mouse understands at a pure, intuitive level. There’s a reason, after all, that she’s built herself a workaround.
Of course, there’s the matter of what Mick’s actually saying- and the dawning realization that the little elf has unintentionally drawn in another protector. Whether from the booze or the revelation, a flush starts to blossom across her cheeks. “REALLY? YOU’D THINK ASSHOLES WOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO MESS WITH YOU.” There’s no irony in her speech as she says this. If anything, Mick seems to have cultivated a resting ‘fuck-off’ face she could stand to emulate.
“I REALLY DO LOOK LIKE SOME PATHETIC LITTLE CINNAMON ROLL, HUH?” She finds herself reaching for the drink again, this time steeling herself for the immediate hit. “BUT I APPRECIATE THE OFFER. SERIOUSLY.”
In her attempt to project sincerity, and to square this newfound understanding with her previous assessments of her teammate, she forces herself to try and meet Mick’s gaze. “I’D OFFER THE SAME, THOUGH YOUR WAY OF HANDLING THINGS IS PROBABLY MORE EFFICIENT.” She pauses to consider this, a smile creeping across her lips. “UNLESS SOME DREKBAG STARTS SENDING YOU UNSOLICITED MEAT PICS. THAT, I CAN HANDLE.”
She glances over at her teammates, who are in varying stages of finished with their glasses. Silently cursing her speed, she tips back the rest of hers, pulling the glass away with a sharp cough. She wipes her mouth on a sleeve and replaces her mask- a flimsy disguise against the creeping ‘glow’ beneath.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick is flummoxed, anxious that they've said the wrong thing, suggested the wrong premises by implication. "No, it's that, uh.." It's like pulling their own teeth, being this forward. "Not pathetic. At all. Just, you look like the kinda cinnamon roll that found a better way to do most things. You're probably a lot better at living in this world than I am." The ork can feel the blood rising in their cheeks, each stammer and stumble adding nervous blossoms until Mick fears their face is in full bloom. They raise the glass again for cover, something to do amid all the fumbling. Three fingers become no fingers in a single swallow, the burning in their throat and stomach overtaking the warmth in their cheeks. "And I like cinnamon rolls."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mouse’s brow furrows at the initial depiction, desperate to clarify what she assumes is her own failure in communication. “THAT’S THE PROBLEM. I DON’T LIVE IN THIS WORLD.”
This last statement probably would make for a stunning revelation, even to herself, worthy of further introspection and development, had it not been immediately followed by Mick’s last comment. Instead, her eyes widen at what she thought she heard, the meaning itself failing to process, like some injection of warped syntax she’s incapable of handling. “YOU- WAIT, WHAT?”
No longer some gentle cheek flush, she’s gone full crimson, the ‘glow’ from her unfortunate genetics having spread like some contagion, lighting up her entire face and neck. Throat still burning from the alcohol she’s effectively chugged, her attempt to follow that up with something clever, or barring that, literally anything intelligible is instead cut off by a series of choking coughs, like she’d just inhaled her drink.
She leans back, still coughing, tapping at the bar in a frantic attempt to summon water, or literally anything else. “FIRST OFF-” she finally manages, the synthesizer calmly intoning over the lingering choking sounds of her physical and emotional death “...YOU’RE GOING TO NEED TO TELL ME HOW THE ACTUAL FRAG YOU DRINK THIS STUFF. IS IT SUPPOSED TO BURN THIS MUCH?” It’s the world’s laziest redirection, just a step above ‘Look behind you! A three headed Sasquatch!’, but it’s better than asking for a clarification on what she clearly must have misheard.
This last statement probably would make for a stunning revelation, even to herself, worthy of further introspection and development, had it not been immediately followed by Mick’s last comment. Instead, her eyes widen at what she thought she heard, the meaning itself failing to process, like some injection of warped syntax she’s incapable of handling. “YOU- WAIT, WHAT?”
No longer some gentle cheek flush, she’s gone full crimson, the ‘glow’ from her unfortunate genetics having spread like some contagion, lighting up her entire face and neck. Throat still burning from the alcohol she’s effectively chugged, her attempt to follow that up with something clever, or barring that, literally anything intelligible is instead cut off by a series of choking coughs, like she’d just inhaled her drink.
She leans back, still coughing, tapping at the bar in a frantic attempt to summon water, or literally anything else. “FIRST OFF-” she finally manages, the synthesizer calmly intoning over the lingering choking sounds of her physical and emotional death “...YOU’RE GOING TO NEED TO TELL ME HOW THE ACTUAL FRAG YOU DRINK THIS STUFF. IS IT SUPPOSED TO BURN THIS MUCH?” It’s the world’s laziest redirection, just a step above ‘Look behind you! A three headed Sasquatch!’, but it’s better than asking for a clarification on what she clearly must have misheard.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick, feeling like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming maglev, searches for a response. "Um, yeah. Just, uh. Nothing better than dominating a cinnamon roll in an airport bathroom, you know?" It seems they had glitched again– saying the right words with the wrong meaning, or the wrong words with the right meaning. They never really knew which. Mick's eyes search for something to meet other than the decker's own flailing gaze– anything to distract from the hot tingling sensation creeping up the back of their scalp and warming their ears to the points.
Luckily, the music and the bartender provide adequate cover for the ork to recover some composure– or at least to pause long enough to think of something to say as Mick watches in knowing amusement as the elven bartender sets a new glass down in front of Mouse. As expected, it's another round of the same foul liquor Mouse had already struggled to keep down. The ork smiles at the decker, this peek through the decker's literal and figurative veils warming Mick's typically stony heart. "Not sure you were looking for more of the same, but the same's usually what you get in a drekhole like this." Mouse's disappointment is palpable through even the voice synthesis.
Mick makes eye contact with the bartender, points to Mouse's glass, and holds up two fingers. Without a word, the bartender pours another shot of murky battery acid and sets it down before Mick.
Returning their focus to Mouse, Mick smirks and makes darting, evasive eye contact. "The trick with drek like this ain't really a trick." Mick runs their index finger along the rim of the glass, their fingertip snagging on a generous chip. "I remember my dad telling me that 'you get used to it,' or 'it's an acquired taste.' But that's bulldrek." The ork withdraws the finger and rubs it with the pad of their thumb, smearing a drop of blood into the valleys of their fingerprints. "Pain gating. That's the trick. If something else hurts more, the burn ain't really so bad." Mick's grin sags as they look at the blood tracing into the ridges on the pad of their thumb.
Catching themself, Mick shakes the moment's bleak reverie away and picks the shitty glass off the bartop, the *SKWIK* sound of its release from the decades-sticky surface going unheard, but not unfelt. Doing their best to drag their wan grin back from oblivion, Mick holds the glass up to Mouse, and offers, "Seemed rude to let you suffer alone." The smile is tenuous, but genuine. So, too, remains their eye contact.
And somewhere in their mind, Mick just barely manages to wonder vaguely to themselves if it's possible to blush so hard that you pass out due to unavailability of oxygen in the brain.
Luckily, the music and the bartender provide adequate cover for the ork to recover some composure– or at least to pause long enough to think of something to say as Mick watches in knowing amusement as the elven bartender sets a new glass down in front of Mouse. As expected, it's another round of the same foul liquor Mouse had already struggled to keep down. The ork smiles at the decker, this peek through the decker's literal and figurative veils warming Mick's typically stony heart. "Not sure you were looking for more of the same, but the same's usually what you get in a drekhole like this." Mouse's disappointment is palpable through even the voice synthesis.
Mick makes eye contact with the bartender, points to Mouse's glass, and holds up two fingers. Without a word, the bartender pours another shot of murky battery acid and sets it down before Mick.
Returning their focus to Mouse, Mick smirks and makes darting, evasive eye contact. "The trick with drek like this ain't really a trick." Mick runs their index finger along the rim of the glass, their fingertip snagging on a generous chip. "I remember my dad telling me that 'you get used to it,' or 'it's an acquired taste.' But that's bulldrek." The ork withdraws the finger and rubs it with the pad of their thumb, smearing a drop of blood into the valleys of their fingerprints. "Pain gating. That's the trick. If something else hurts more, the burn ain't really so bad." Mick's grin sags as they look at the blood tracing into the ridges on the pad of their thumb.
Catching themself, Mick shakes the moment's bleak reverie away and picks the shitty glass off the bartop, the *SKWIK* sound of its release from the decades-sticky surface going unheard, but not unfelt. Doing their best to drag their wan grin back from oblivion, Mick holds the glass up to Mouse, and offers, "Seemed rude to let you suffer alone." The smile is tenuous, but genuine. So, too, remains their eye contact.
And somewhere in their mind, Mick just barely manages to wonder vaguely to themselves if it's possible to blush so hard that you pass out due to unavailability of oxygen in the brain.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mouse.exe has stopped working.
At least, she's developed a glazed over look as she nods vacantly along with Mick's attempted clarification. "I'LL HAVE TO TRY IT, THEN…" she intones, still staring forward. 'Cinnamon bun' be damned, her mind's already been polluted by the filthiest corners of the matrix, and she's clearly less focused on her own words than the barrage of lewd mental images evoked by Mick's colorful word choice.
The reverie is cut short with the addition of more whiskey to the expanding list of Mouse’s problems. The impromptu lesson that accompanies it, however, is more than worth the nuyen she’s undoubtedly wasting on the unwanted drink. Whether it’s Mick’s teaching style, the ork’s shift in demeanor as they catch a conversational groove, or simply the welcome change to a non-pastry topic, it’s enough to fully capture Mouse’s attention. Unlike Mick, her own focus lingers: from Mick themselves, and the flashes of confidence that break through in each curl of the ork’s mouth, to motion of the liquid in their hand, to the bead of blood drawn from the glass.
It’s only from this guidance that, despite her clear uncertainty with literally everything about this situation, Mouse finds herself dutifully raising her glass in time with Mick’s. “NOT GONNA LIE. STILL SEEMS A WEIRD WAY TO WASTE MONEY WHEN I CAN JUST HURT MYSELF FOR FREE.”
In keeping with the lesson, she pauses long enough to roll down one sleeve of her hand with the glass, just far enough to expose a pale wrist. She encircles it with her free hand, before pressing her thumb against the soft flesh. “TO SUFFERING TOGETHER, THEN.” With that, she tips back the glass, just as she jams her nail into her own skin, long enough to force down a few heavy swallows.
With a sense of accomplishment, she sets the glass down, pulling her hand away to reveal an angry red crescent from her efforts. She turns it in place, briefly admiring the handiwork. “YEP. NOPE. STILL TASTES LIKE ASS,” she concludes with a snort, before swiping her sleeve up to her mouth, wiping away the beads of alcohol lingering at the corners of her mouth. “BUT IF THIS IS WHAT IT TAKES TO BE SOCIAL… MAYBE WORTH?”
At least, she's developed a glazed over look as she nods vacantly along with Mick's attempted clarification. "I'LL HAVE TO TRY IT, THEN…" she intones, still staring forward. 'Cinnamon bun' be damned, her mind's already been polluted by the filthiest corners of the matrix, and she's clearly less focused on her own words than the barrage of lewd mental images evoked by Mick's colorful word choice.
The reverie is cut short with the addition of more whiskey to the expanding list of Mouse’s problems. The impromptu lesson that accompanies it, however, is more than worth the nuyen she’s undoubtedly wasting on the unwanted drink. Whether it’s Mick’s teaching style, the ork’s shift in demeanor as they catch a conversational groove, or simply the welcome change to a non-pastry topic, it’s enough to fully capture Mouse’s attention. Unlike Mick, her own focus lingers: from Mick themselves, and the flashes of confidence that break through in each curl of the ork’s mouth, to motion of the liquid in their hand, to the bead of blood drawn from the glass.
It’s only from this guidance that, despite her clear uncertainty with literally everything about this situation, Mouse finds herself dutifully raising her glass in time with Mick’s. “NOT GONNA LIE. STILL SEEMS A WEIRD WAY TO WASTE MONEY WHEN I CAN JUST HURT MYSELF FOR FREE.”
In keeping with the lesson, she pauses long enough to roll down one sleeve of her hand with the glass, just far enough to expose a pale wrist. She encircles it with her free hand, before pressing her thumb against the soft flesh. “TO SUFFERING TOGETHER, THEN.” With that, she tips back the glass, just as she jams her nail into her own skin, long enough to force down a few heavy swallows.
With a sense of accomplishment, she sets the glass down, pulling her hand away to reveal an angry red crescent from her efforts. She turns it in place, briefly admiring the handiwork. “YEP. NOPE. STILL TASTES LIKE ASS,” she concludes with a snort, before swiping her sleeve up to her mouth, wiping away the beads of alcohol lingering at the corners of her mouth. “BUT IF THIS IS WHAT IT TAKES TO BE SOCIAL… MAYBE WORTH?”
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
"S'how I manage." The ork brings the glass most of the way to their mouth, pauses, and adds, "Not that I really manage." Mick slugs the whiskey down with practiced ease that threatens to crest over into perfect indifference. "Thanks for the drink. Next one's on me." The smile on the ork's face is foreign, even more for of its earnestness than its bashfulness, and it dawns on Mick that they haven't smiled for real in quite a while. And as they tally up their best account of running with this crew, it doesn't seem a bad fringe benefit at all.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
The Boise central station is a an expansive rectangular structure resembling an elongated pueblo, perched on the tallest hill in the city. The architecture is an homage to the heritage of the territory, all stucco and earth tones among plasteel supports and stanchions. A towering archway of inter-connected hexagonal skylights forms the primary depot and the embarkation platforms appear to be locally sourced stone. Plentiful signage reminds visitors that the grandiose station was built with funds from Ute Nation casinos. At the mouth of the depot is a massive, elevated magnetic track on concrete trusses. The track continues to the horizon and beyond.
True to its reputation, Boise is a melting pot. Elves, orks, humans, dwarves and trolls of all races mill about. The diversity is refreshing, exotic and a little overwhelming. First Nation folk in colorful garb pass Nippon sararimen and Tir diplomats.
Noah herds the team up the stairs and into an alcove full of Nippon vending machines and automated currency exchangers. The coyote has been awkwardly lugging four large suitcases which he unceremoniously dumps on the floor. He glances around to make sure they are unobserved.
"Welcome to Boise Central," he says with a grin. "Time to stow anything you can't reliably conceal. The drones should go in there too, the Ute aren't too fond of them."
True to its reputation, Boise is a melting pot. Elves, orks, humans, dwarves and trolls of all races mill about. The diversity is refreshing, exotic and a little overwhelming. First Nation folk in colorful garb pass Nippon sararimen and Tir diplomats.
Noah herds the team up the stairs and into an alcove full of Nippon vending machines and automated currency exchangers. The coyote has been awkwardly lugging four large suitcases which he unceremoniously dumps on the floor. He glances around to make sure they are unobserved.
"Welcome to Boise Central," he says with a grin. "Time to stow anything you can't reliably conceal. The drones should go in there too, the Ute aren't too fond of them."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Taipan peers around at his colleagues, Some of whom look none too inexperienced at carrying illicit drek into places where it doesn't belong. His eyes linger on Thoryne in particular. "Better listen to the man. It's his job to know what we can and can't get away with. And despite appearances, he's actually pretty good at it."
Taipan unslings the Remington 950 from his back, unscrewing the barrel with a few practiced twists of the wrist before detaching the shoulder stock and sliding the mag sight off its rail. He eyes the suitcases for a moment before popping one open, nodding appreciatively at the eggshell foam lining his selected vessel. "I've got to give it to you, you know your biz," he says approvingly as he nests the component parts of his rifle snugly among soft padding.
He detaches the FN HAR from the sling under his coat, folds the stock flat against the body, and rests it gently next to the long rifle components. The smartlink readout confirms a full clip and empty chamber, quiet snake ready to strike. "This one goes at the top of the pile, eh?"
Taipan removes a length of ceremonial rope from a tac pocket. Its age is betrayed by the slightly dulled luster of its once-bright fibers, mostly from rubbing around in the aforementioned pocket, but otherwise its condition suggests it has rarely known occasion to be used. He wraps it solemnly around the hilt and scabbard of his sword in a complex knot, though one he's practiced tying and untying a thousand or more times. At the end of the rope, he leaves one subtle loop choked by the trailing end...
"Ready," he says simply, peering around at the ragtag group of runners he'd be entrusting to a drunken mercenary to shepherd them safely into Imperial territory on a mission for which they didn't have a plan. My, how times have changed.
Taipan unslings the Remington 950 from his back, unscrewing the barrel with a few practiced twists of the wrist before detaching the shoulder stock and sliding the mag sight off its rail. He eyes the suitcases for a moment before popping one open, nodding appreciatively at the eggshell foam lining his selected vessel. "I've got to give it to you, you know your biz," he says approvingly as he nests the component parts of his rifle snugly among soft padding.
He detaches the FN HAR from the sling under his coat, folds the stock flat against the body, and rests it gently next to the long rifle components. The smartlink readout confirms a full clip and empty chamber, quiet snake ready to strike. "This one goes at the top of the pile, eh?"
Taipan removes a length of ceremonial rope from a tac pocket. Its age is betrayed by the slightly dulled luster of its once-bright fibers, mostly from rubbing around in the aforementioned pocket, but otherwise its condition suggests it has rarely known occasion to be used. He wraps it solemnly around the hilt and scabbard of his sword in a complex knot, though one he's practiced tying and untying a thousand or more times. At the end of the rope, he leaves one subtle loop choked by the trailing end...
"Ready," he says simply, peering around at the ragtag group of runners he'd be entrusting to a drunken mercenary to shepherd them safely into Imperial territory on a mission for which they didn't have a plan. My, how times have changed.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick peers at the coyote with the briefest moment of suspicion, but shrugs off any possible concern over the doughy, unthreatening blowhard. If he double crosses them, he'll be nothing but short, messy work. With a shrug, Mick withdraws the Uzi IV from under their coat and tosses it indifferently into the bin. "Nobody can strip me of my actual weapons anyway." The gun lands in the bin with a chattering thud.
The ork steals a glance at Mouse, still nervous and a bit beguiled from their drinks at the bar. There was something about the decker that fascinated them, and soon the time for such curiosities would be over. But, for now, absent any plan of action for what's to come, Mick has nothing else of interest to chew over amid such a ragtag rabble.
The ork steals a glance at Mouse, still nervous and a bit beguiled from their drinks at the bar. There was something about the decker that fascinated them, and soon the time for such curiosities would be over. But, for now, absent any plan of action for what's to come, Mick has nothing else of interest to chew over amid such a ragtag rabble.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
While Taipan is disassembling his rifle, Noah turns and studies one of the vending machines. Unseen to Taipan, a grin spreads across the coyote's face. Noah makes a curt gesture and the machine rumbles. He retrieves a small gourd shaped plastic bottle from the dispenser chute.
"Here, omae. Yuzu flavored sports drink." Noah tosses the beverage to Taipan. "I know you like it-- a fact I can't forget because I hadn't even heard of yuzu until I met you." He looks very pleased with himself as he threads another Alpaca into his mouth. "You'll make a cultured man of me yet."
Three chimes emanate from the station's PA system, followed by an announcement: "The Sierra Express will be departing for Reno in thirty minutes." The same message repeats in Japanese, Sperethiel and Shoshani.
"Here, omae. Yuzu flavored sports drink." Noah tosses the beverage to Taipan. "I know you like it-- a fact I can't forget because I hadn't even heard of yuzu until I met you." He looks very pleased with himself as he threads another Alpaca into his mouth. "You'll make a cultured man of me yet."
Three chimes emanate from the station's PA system, followed by an announcement: "The Sierra Express will be departing for Reno in thirty minutes." The same message repeats in Japanese, Sperethiel and Shoshani.
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick watches the coyote light up with eager interest, and implores from across the chamber, "Hey, pal, toss me one'a them smokes, will ya? All this sitting around and not doin' drek's got my nerves up."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Wordlessly, Noah waves his hand at a vending machine at Mick's flank. The squat piece of machinery makes a pleasant noise and a crisp paper pack of Alpaca 100's slide out on to an extendable tray.
Noah winks at Mick. "I've ridden this train so many goddamned times, I'm drowning in rewards points. Fortunately you can use them for booze and smokes. It's on the house."
Noah winks at Mick. "I've ridden this train so many goddamned times, I'm drowning in rewards points. Fortunately you can use them for booze and smokes. It's on the house."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick extends a calloused and profoundly scarred hand to accept the gift of an early death from Noah. "Thanks, omae. Classy of ya." The ork brings an Alpaca to their lips, relishing the sweet smell of the tobacco as it dances at their nose, and pauses. "Hey, uh, I ain't got a light." The ork searches inside themself a moment, wavering, before blurting out, "Hey, Reiya, yeah? Tell me to frag off if it feels good comin' out of your mouth, but ever since I saw it in a movie once I've always had this little dream of a shaman lighting a smoke for me with magic..."
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
“And by weapons, Mick means uncanny charm. By the way, you know if they got some food on this train, maybe a cinnamon roll or something?” Yung states flatly as he appraises the suitcases laid out in front of him.
“Holy drek, dat piece of twine looks older than you meng, it’s even got a bit of gray.” Yung chuckles as he feigns scrutiny of Taipan’s peace binding. “Anyway, let’s see here, Mi Ares, amor.” He produces his most cherished sidearm, giving it a gentle kiss before removing the clip and placing it in the case next to the FN HAR. “Taipan said it’s okay if it touch tips with his aijin, yeah?”
A sudden look of mock epiphany flashes across his face, “Oh drek, almost forgot.” Yung unslings his Armante backpack from his shoulder. “Betta put this in there too, got like half a dozen nades in there, hopefully dat not a problem, eh?”
“Holy drek, dat piece of twine looks older than you meng, it’s even got a bit of gray.” Yung chuckles as he feigns scrutiny of Taipan’s peace binding. “Anyway, let’s see here, Mi Ares, amor.” He produces his most cherished sidearm, giving it a gentle kiss before removing the clip and placing it in the case next to the FN HAR. “Taipan said it’s okay if it touch tips with his aijin, yeah?”
A sudden look of mock epiphany flashes across his face, “Oh drek, almost forgot.” Yung unslings his Armante backpack from his shoulder. “Betta put this in there too, got like half a dozen nades in there, hopefully dat not a problem, eh?”
Re: Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place
Mick flushes and glowers at Yung, fairly certain that they've just been made the butt of a joke they don't understand, and more certain that he's not been invited to whatever the frag table was set between themself and Mouse. If the Mick's eyes tell any tales, the tale they're telling now is to tread carefully in the narrow, liminal space between the ork's sincerity and their tenuous impulse control.
Last edited by John on Fri Dec 10, 2021 11:35 am, edited 1 time in total.