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Post by insanepurpleone on May 31, 2009 15:09:49 GMT -5
I'm fine with you already owning the ship, Shade. :3 Same here. Ditto.
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Post by Zylaa on Jun 1, 2009 0:11:15 GMT -5
Agreed.
And if you start in the next ten days, permission to put my character on autopilot.
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Post by Rider on Jun 1, 2009 11:31:16 GMT -5
Agreed. And if you start in the next ten days, permission to put my character on autopilot. [glow=red,2,300]Alright, have fun at camp, Zy-Zy. ^_^ [/glow]
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Post by Bacon on Jun 10, 2009 23:17:50 GMT -5
So, are we gonna start this thing soon?
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Post by Rider on Jun 13, 2009 11:52:50 GMT -5
[glow=red,2,300]I haven't forgotten. I could list off a boatload of excuses, including "A combo of dyslexia and multiple windows made me send Bacon's PM to Tk," but that's another story for another day. >.>
... (please don't kill me) <3
And thus our intrepid heroes... or anti-heroes... or Gooshes... set off!
Welcome to Paquin, the gypsy planet. Here you can find all manner of galleries, theatres and entertainment. On her underbelly, one can find carnivals, side-shows, cons and schemes. All of this rests in the shadow of the Paquin Opera House.
In one of the less privileged and less savory parts of town, there's a tavern (yes, cliche) run by a haggard-looking ex-carnivalman. You all have your own reasons for coming here. Whether you're delivering art to a local gallery on behalf of the Alliance, running away from something, taking a break from your stealing and cheating or you're just here for a quick drink before you go out to see the sights again, here you are.
The five of you, the barman and a waitress in a corset are the only people here. Sighing, the barman turns on the Cortex, where a local Paquin news station is reporting that there have been several attempted break-ins at the hotels that house Paquin's many tourists. "Ruttin' thieves don't know what it is to earn an honest living," the barman mutters, raising the volume a couple of notches.[/glow]
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Post by Zylaa on Jun 15, 2009 16:54:31 GMT -5
Simone was looking contemplatively at her empty glass, pondering the pros and cons of begging for a second drink. Creative hitchhiking, volunteering, fighting, and (when all else had failed) running away had gotten her to this point. And as entertaining as it was watching that waitress struggle with that ridiculous corset, to get to any of the quality entertainment, she would need money. To get off planet too, for that matter. She needed a job. "Ruttin' thieves don't know what it is to earn an honest living." Simone perked up, looking at the news. Maybe I’ve found one, she thought. She looked around the room. But if I’m going to go do any gorram police work, I’m really gonna need that other drink. After a moment’s contemplation, she settled on looking as waiflike as possible and hoping someone would buy her a drink. This probably would not work, as she still had quite a few weapons on her person, but it was worth a shot.
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Post by Bacon on Jun 15, 2009 20:43:27 GMT -5
Alexander looked up when the barkeeper spoke up. If there were thieves here, it'd probably be easier for a fugitive like himself to hide in the shadows of the more pressing investigation. On the other hand, if the thieves attracted the attention of the Alliance, things could get much worse for him.
"Isn't there some sort of local law enforcement that can deal with them?" Alexander asked the barman. If there was, he could probably lay low for a while, but if not he'd probably have to hurry up and move to another planet before the Alliance could intervene in local affairs.
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Post by Shadaras on Jun 15, 2009 21:30:54 GMT -5
Ammerat scowled, looking at his drink. He’d barely had any of it. No surprises there. Being planetside was starting to get to him. Dropped off a load of Alliance stuff, but his employer had left with the load. Hanging around bars and the spaceports for a day or two usually let him find someone willing to pay for a pilot to take them wherever. Wasn’t like he really cared where he was going or what he took with him, so long as it wasn’t illegal. But so far, he hadn’t had any luck.
“Ruttin' thieves don't know what it is to earn an honest living.”
He almost wanted to punch the barman, but resisted the impulse. Nobody ever considered that sometimes it took stealing to get what was needed for an honest living. Ammerat sighed, slouching back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore the dirt and smell of dust that permeated almost every planet. “Why can’t it just be clean?” he muttered, ignoring that the planet-born probably wouldn’t even notice dust.
Not that he cared, in the end. Wasn’t like anyone really cared what he did planetside, so long as he flew Joy well. And that was his love and his life and why he’d dared to steal a ship from the Alliance.
Of course, he still couldn’t fly if he didn’t have any way to pay for his voyage. Oh, he had enough to pay for a couple flights anyway, but that was for emergencies. Not for leaving a place that really should have people willing to pay a freelancer for passage elsewhere.
“Isn't there some sort of local law enforcement that can deal with them?”
“There’s always some sort of law enforcement,” Ammerat grumbled. “Doesn’t mean it’s Alliance. Doesn’t mean it’s good. But there’ll always be something.” He didn’t know what Paquin’s law enforcement was like, and didn’t really care. He preferred space, where the rules were relatively simple: Try not to get into fights, and run if someone else threatened one. Good, sensible strategy that didn’t lead to hulls being breached and people dying. He’d gotten called a rat more than once for that, but he was alive and some of the others flying for the Alliance in the war weren’t, even others who’d flown transports just like his.
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Post by insanepurpleone on Jun 17, 2009 17:14:51 GMT -5
Leroy frowned at the conversation, but took another drink instead of speaking up. He wasn't personally averse to thieving in the least, but he knew that there were a lot of people who didn't take kindly to his beliefs. He'd rather steal something if it meant he didn't have to spend his hard-earned credits most of the time. As it was, he didn't usually try to steal anything that'd be too well missed, and he never hurt anyone so long as they stayed out of his way, but even that wasn't enough to keep him out of trouble. Heck, half the reason he'd left Boros was the fact that he'd been fired from more than a few shipyards for stealing from them. He'd come to Paquin knowing he could make a living being a little less than honest, but he was getting bored of even that. He'd gotten used to moving around on Boros, and didn't like it when things got stale. It tended to make his fingers particularly itchy, and he was afraid he might try to pull a job he'd later regret if he didn't do something soon to head it off.
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Post by Goosh on Jun 17, 2009 17:17:07 GMT -5
Topper didn't immediately react when the bartender voiced his opinion, too caught up in his own problem. Yùn had docked on Paquin and the captain had only then decided, upon receiving some questionably legitimate work from a shady arms dealer, a new no-passengers rule. Topper was abandoned without a second thought, and the only decently-priced passenger ship available was heading to the same tiny moon he had just come from.
So here he was, sitting in a dim tavern with an empty glass and nowhere to go. He had been vaguely tempted by the flickering holograms that announced whimsy and wonder and exotic dancers, but figured at his main goal on Paquin would be finding a way off it, and he wouldn't get that done taking in a show.
“There’s always some sort of law enforcement. Doesn’t mean it’s Alliance. Doesn’t mean it’s good. But there’ll always be something.”
That was true enough. Topper hadn't experienced much of the rougher side of the Rim yet, but he had heard stories. And this place looked like it had never even heard of the Alliance.
"Some people think thievin' is an honest living," he said finally. It was true enough, but neutral too. Hopping from ship to ship like he did, Topper had seen what kind of damage could be caused by people feuding in close quarters. An entire planet wasn't exactly what anyone would call close quarters, but he had still resolved to make as few enemies as possible, if he could help it.
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Post by Rider on Jun 18, 2009 21:04:30 GMT -5
"Some people think thievin' is an honest living,"
"And them folk are called fools. As for the law enforcement, you're right, it ain't Alliance. The Alliance got all the credits in the 'Verse to spend on that fancy piece of marble opera house, but they can't send us a decent lawman. The Alliance would probably know what method the thieves are usin' better'n the hicks 'round here. I mean, those hotels are owned by Blue Sun. They've got good security."
The Cortex starts running ads, so the bar tender changes the channel to a cartoon in Chinese. The waitress keeps adjusting her corset and deliberately avoiding the Cortex screen. She looks to be no more than 20 years old. She's a pretty little girl with huge eyes that remind you of the eyes of a startled deer... or would if you had ever seen a deer.
"Hey Yasmin, didn't you used to work for Blue Sun?"
"Briefly." She doesn't look up from her alphabetical bottles of booze. She's intently trying dust and making them, well, slightly less dusty.
"Don't mind her, she's a shy one. Blue Sun. Now there's a corporation that climbed its way to the top by making an honest living. They start off as a protein pack company and now they make everything from candles to spaceships."
Another man enters the bar. He's dressed better than most folk in this area, meaning that his clothes are clean and haven't been re-patched. His hair looks neat and tidy, too, like he can afford a regular trim. His face is smooth-shaven and he wears a ring on his right pinky. He looks startled to see so many people here. He takes the seat closest to where Yasmin is. "A strong whiskey, if you will, miss," he says. Beads of sweat are forming on his upper lip. She turns to pour him a glass and out of the blue, he grabs her arm, spins her around and puts his arm around her neck like he's going to choke her, in the Hollywood "I'm-taking-someone-hostage" position.
The startled deer becomes a deer in headlights. The man draws a pistol. "NOBODY MOVE!"
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Post by Zylaa on Jun 22, 2009 10:20:20 GMT -5
"NOBODY MOVE!"
Simone's hand instinctively twitched towards her gun, but she stopped herself. She didn't want to look threatening. Yet.
"I wasn't planning on it," she said carefully. "What's the trouble, sir?" Might as well be polite first. Simone, who had in fact seen a deer before, could appreciate the metaphorical stance of the frightened girl, and noted that she was doing a far, far better job of looking vulnerable.
Simone took her eyes off the girl to scan the bar, only her eyes moving. Alexander might have jumped out of his skin by now, she thought, since any law enforcement could be bad news for him. As for the other patrons, she wondered if any of them knew what was going on here-- and whether or not any of them would take sides.
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Post by Goosh on Jun 22, 2009 13:46:50 GMT -5
"NOBODY MOVE!"
Topper, who had been staring at the girl on the other side of the bar before the man came in, saw her move for a concealed lump before restraining herself. He wondered if she knew the man who was holding the waitress.
"I wasn't planning on it. What's the trouble, sir?" Topper admired her confidence, although the waitress seemed scared out of her mind. He wasn't as frightened, largely because he wasn't the one close to a bullet in the brain pan, but he still managed to knock over his drink as he recoiled.
He didn't have anything useful on him, and smashing his glass to attack the gunman with the shards didn't seem all that appealing. For that matter, he didn't know the girl. She could've done any number of things in the 'Verse against. Topper just didn't want to get shot. So he kept his hands on the bar, still, waiting for the kidnapper to answer her.
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Post by Bacon on Jun 22, 2009 23:00:40 GMT -5
As soon as his heart started beating again, Alexander tried to mentally assess the situation. There was a gunman with a hostage -who for all he knew could be in on the hostage-taker's scheme-, there were four wildcards including the barkeeper who might be willing and able to take the gunman down if he distracted him, and Simone just now started to negotiate with him.
That was good. If the gunman was up for negotiations, Alexander would offer him money. If not, Alex would probably start slinging insults at the man and hope one of the other bar patrons would do something before he got shot. Alexander did not like getting shot; it often resulted in him bleeding and nearly dying, which is never much fun.
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Post by insanepurpleone on Jun 23, 2009 1:47:04 GMT -5
"NOBODY MOVE!"
Leroy's hand clenched at his side before he heard the woman speak. "I wasn't planning on it. What's the trouble, sir?"
Good to know someone here had some common sense, because he apparently didn't fit the bill. Leroy'd been ready to pull out the gun in his pocket, but the interruption had made him realize that doing so might not have been the best of plans. He did, however, slide his hand into his pocket, the shape of the gun reassuring in his hand. The situation looked like it was under control for now, but if things turned ugly, he wasn't about to be caught off guard.
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