The causal tone of this 'Porter' took Jag off guard, expecting an much more stern attitude from him. Through his ease was welcomed as a interesting change of pace for the veteran Freelancer.
"Since you told me your name, I such do the same. The name's Jag, a designation that I picked up during the many of years I spent within this trade." Jag explained to Porter.
[quote]January 12th, 2385:
I've taken my leave from the Muramasa for the evening while multiple plots are underway. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but I'd rather not bring any of the new recruits along at the moment. I was thinking about Virin, earlier... I should avoid being distracted for the sake of this journal. We are attempting to steal a racer with which to enter Owen into the Grand Prix. At the same time, we are seeking to sabotage the race of his uncle, Jeb. Should we succeed, we will gain more notoriety than ever before.
I think this job will be my last in the field. This crew is doing well, and if they continue to show their proficiency, I'll take Rask and Neasha and move on to administrative tasks. It'll soon be time to leave the ship itself under the command of a captain. I'm not choosing who's going to bear that burden; the crew will vote on it themselves. I have hopes that they'll vest their trust in someone capable, and more importantly, someone who will look after their wellbeing. It's clear to me that the ayr already considers herself head and shoulders above the rest, but she is not doing herself any favors through her words and actions... Rask seems to enjoy her company, however. And before I can settle down into a true headquarters, we must locate a suitable post of command.
One step at a time.
-Yanim Terika[/quote]
Stepping into a cab, Yanim relaxed in the spacious back seat and stretched her legs. "Redline Club," she said, pulling a tube of kagakitazh out of her pocket and snorting it. "Make it quick and I'll pay double."
"You got it," the driver replied. "You meetin' someone?" he asked with a casual friendliness.
"Maybe," Yanim replied, intentionally vague.
"Hey, I know it's none of my business, but just in case: I've been taking a lot of girls up there, they wanna go to the hotel. The one right above the casino floor, you know?" Yanim remained silent. "[I]Kanad[/I] girls," the driver clarified, "if you knew somethin' about it, I'm just curious what they're up to."
"No idea," Yanim replied, coldly.
"Oh." The driver didn't ask any questions for the rest of the drive. When they arrived at the casino, Yanim paid him double his fare, honoring her word, but as she turned away the driver caught sight of the pistol strapped to Yanim's boot. Getting a chill, he put the car in gear and drove away, not wanting to be anywhere close in case things went south.
Yanim entered the building. The entrance floor, the casino, was a strange mixture of art deco, retro futurism, and racing symbolism, with the centerpiece being a twisting titanium sculpture of different terran racing vehicles from over the ages. Its polished surfaces reflected the flashing lights of slot machines and other electronic attractions on all sides, but with the assistance of recessed strobe lighting hidden in the ceiling vault, the racers almost appeared to be moving at all times. Yanim turned to the left immediately, however, and made her way to the cage-like elevator which would carry her to the club below. Stepping inside, an ayr woman in an attendant's uniform placed her hand on the control lever.
"Another one, hm?" the ayr remarked with a sly undertone.
"Club floor, please," Yanim replied, darkly. She was already too relaxed from the [I]tazh[/I] to care what the ayr was thinking, but for good measure she forced herself to picture what had happened in April, the previous year. She flooded her mind with the gruesome details. By the time she left the elevator, the ayr was nauseous. Yanim left a generous tip.
This club was unlike the others. In fact, as soon as the elevator had cleared the division between the floors, it was apparent that the designers of this hotel knew that the faux-Mobster era club market was already cornered in Port Town. This was something wholly modern, a true rave. It was darker, louder, and a greater assault on the senses. Yanim decreased the volume on her hearing implants and filtered away some of the buzzing electronic beats until she could hear voices among the crowd. Drifting among them, she spotted aliens of all types, bumping and grinding, bathed in glowing paints and encircled by glowing bracelets and coils. Half of them were on drugs, losing brain cells by the minute and loving it. Yanim could identify anything they were hopped up on by the dust on their collars alone.
That is, for the ones who were wearing clothes.
"Heeeyyyy!" an obnoxious voice called out. Somehow, without looking, Yanim knew that it was directed at her. Turning around, she found herself the subject of three other kanads' curiosity, all of them offworlders who were clearly enjoying their time away from the Collective more efficiently than Yanim was. Their look was exactly the type she was imitating with her choice of disguise, but their personality was something she would prefer to avoid-
One of the offworlders suddenly grabbed Yanim by her jacket and pulled her over, giving her a deep, unwanted kiss before screaming with her hands in the air like a lunatic, bouncing away briefly into the crowd before returning. One of the others, dressed in a swimsuit and wearing hundreds of sets of beads, pulled apart her eye-concealing mop of neon green hair to inform Yanim that she had "finally found the party."
Yanim was caught off guard, but avoided panicking. It was difficult to maintain composure, especially with the growing contact high from whatever was in the first offworlder's mouth. "Where can I get what she's had?" Yanim asked to begin the conversation.
"[Kiaika,]" [I]sister,[/I] "you not ready for that. You work up, way, way up!"
The final of the trio was bouncing with the music, and yet from the waist up appeared locked in tetanus, gripping her upper body with both arms crossed over herself, her head frozen at a steep angle. She bobbed harder and harder, until she lost her footing. The second kanad caught her and lifted her up. "Y-y-you here for L-L-Lebedz?" she suddenly asked, her voice as high as a chipmunk's.
"...Aleksi Lebedz? He's here?" Yanim asked.
"Well duh," the green-haired kanad replied. Have not you heard? He has... ah [I]thing[/I] for kanad girls," she said, gesticulating with her hands. "Everyone want a turn in his room. Everyone!" The first kanad screamed in the affirmative from somewhere nearby.
"And then what?" Yanim asked, socially inept.
The second kanad laughed a disturbing, unrestrained kanad laugh. "Hyeee hyeh hyeh hyeh!" several people stopped dancing to see what had just made the noise. "What else is there? You dance, you party, you have sex time- is good! Is good! Do it all over tomorrow! Yashta!" [I]Hell yeah![/I] There was a tap on Yanim's shoulder, and, fearing that the first kanad had come back around, Yanim leaned away as she turned around. In fact, the first kanad had reappeared and [I]was[/I] leaning in far too close, but she merely smiled this time and thrust something into Yanim's hands.
It was a packet containing a number of unlabeled pills. Yanim smiled at the stranger. She grinned back, and they each took a hit together. Soon after, Yanim had successfully integrated. The night began to pass like a blur, with all the swirling colors and lights and sounds all melding into a fantastic trip.
And suddenly, inexplicably, all was quiet.
She was standing in an elevator with a tall, tough looking man, perhaps a body guard, and a different elevator attendant. Either she was in a different part of the building, or she had been dancing long enough that the attendants changed shifts. They were going up, and up and up. Fearful of asking any questions, Yanim subtly checked her waistband to see if the pistol was still there. It was, snug against the small of her back.
The doors opened, revealing a long hall with doors spread comfortably apart. Suites. The big man stepped out and motioned at Yanim to follow. "Mr. Lebedz is a man with very specific tastes. If he asks you to do anything you've never done before, well," the man paused and chuckled to himself, and didn't bother finishing his sentence.
Yanim became increasingly nervous as they approached the door.
"Pleasure to meet you, Jag. You're quite the friendly one, aren't you? Not many people on this ship seem to be all meet n' greet." he gestures towards Yuga.
[QUOTE]"Pleasure to meet you, Jag. You're quite the friendly one, aren't you? Not many people on this ship seem to be all meet n' greet.".[/QUOTE]
"It's Pleasure as well, Freelancer Porter." Jag said before it looked over towards Yuga as Porter gestured. Jag was already feeling that Ayr's presence was beginning to claw at it's own.
"Don't mind that Ayr, most individuals of that type don't tend to survive for long within this trade." Jag said in rather diminishing tone, glancing back at her for spit moment before returning it's sight back onto Porter.
"Anyways, since I missed the arrival of the other new recruits. I will begin heading towards the bar to see if they have already started drowning their regents and sorrows in cheap alcohol, you welcome to come if you so wish." Jag told Porter as it raised itself from off the wall and walked towards the door.
The mysterious mustachioed man joined the rest of the crew on the bridge. "Hello... crew. My name is..." he paused for dramatic effect, "Iroquois [i]FISTkin[/i]. Nice ta' meet'cha!"
"Nice to meet you again, fruitcake. I told all non bridge employees to get off the bridge like, ten minutes ago. So eh, ehhhhhh," Rask waved his hand as if to shoo him out of the room. "Go be productive."
"Sure thing, I wouldn't mind getting a drink or two," he then walked towards the bar with Jag, after acknowledging Rask's grandma-like shooing.
Jag nodded towards Porter and turned to open the door before what is presumably another one of the new bloods entered the room. Through this one was more....Interesting.
[QUOTE]"Hello... crew. My name is..." he paused for dramatic effect, "Iroquois [i]FISTkin[/i]. Nice ta' meet'cha!"[/QUOTE]
The veteran Sanghvi stood frozen for moment, unprepared and awe stuck at this new freelancer. Shattering everything it could have predicted as it's eyes scanned this perfect example of an soft carbon.
Jag's mind was barely able to comprehend what seem to be the absolute perfection of life itself within the galaxy. Struggling to think of the right words to approach such a being that stood before it.
"Nice to met you too, I don't care about what your name is." Jag stated with an sarcastic tone towards him. Walking past him towards the bar.
Hah! The poor fools! They don't expect a thing!
[QUOTE=Otterman;49948599]"Sure thing, I wouldn't mind getting a drink or two," he then walked towards the bar with Jag, after acknowledging Rask's grandma-like shooing.[/QUOTE]
"Yes! I too require liquid refreshment, being Iroquois Fistkin and not this Derrick 'The Sledge' Hammer that all the ladies seem to be fawning over! Come! Let us partake of libations as is our merry [i]human[/i] way!"
He then walked out of the room stiffly, making robot noises with his mouth. [i]vrrt vrrt[/i]
Jag just continued to walk along towards the bar, ignoring this rather amusingly thick headed soft-carbon.
The Sanghvi hasted it's pacing down the corridor as it heard him making really, really sad noises coming from his mouth in a even sadder attempt to emulate that of an machine.
(( okay I'm going to sleep. this was a fantastic read today, I love you guys a lot. ))
((Also calling it a night here. I can't believe how fast we blew through the last 100 posts. I just did a quick check out of curiosity. This post is #1452, which we've hit in the early morning of the 34th day of the RP according to the eastern time zone where I live. I went back and looked at the prequel for comparison, and it turns out that the original thread reached the same number... on its 34th day. :toot:))
(( I'm throwing in the towel as well for tonight, the pure role playing aspect between all characters is really great to just read and interact with. ))
(( going to bread, good night))
(( I ain't done here yet. It's time for a notha flashback. ))
[quote]Many, many years ago...[/quote]
"Lord Chemosh." A cultist kneeled infront of his master as he addressed him. Lord Chemosh was lounging on a raised platform which was going to hold a statue of him infront of one of his master's holy temples. He flipped to his side to see who it was that called his name. His reply was nothing but a stony gaze right into the face of the cultist.
"We were hoping you would perform a sacrifice, so that a prayer may be answered today." A group of cultists surrounded the platform, eagerly waiting for his next movement.
"Who will be the victim?" asked Chemosh.
"A whore from the streets. She was found soliciting her services in front of a building across one of our temples. You know what the penalty is for a crime such as this." the cultist said.
"...Bring her to me and lay her on this platform. I'll do this sacrifice." Chemosh leaped off the platform.
The small crowd brought out a woman dressed in rags, covered in bruises and bleeding from wounds here and there, and placed her on the platform Chemosh was laying on. She began to cry. The cultists began to pray. He unsheathed his scimitar and slashed the woman's rags open. He moved in closer...
A hooded figure in black was watching the whole ordeal from afar. His weary and beaten face exposed to the open air, he had a look of utmost disappointment and sadness as he witnessed the color of Chemosh's tunic go from white to red as he cackled like a madman, slicing and flaying away with his scimitar.
Chemosh began to feel as if he was being watched. As he turned around, examining the desert landscape, he spotted a figure in the distance. "Holy Father..." he whispered. "How long has he been standing there? Was he watching me this whole time?" he thought to himself. He was close enough that Chemosh could see the look of defeat and sorrow on his face, and it made him feel even worse than the flayed figure on the platform. He felt as if he was in the eye of the storm, and he started to tremble and shake. The bloodied scimitar fell to the ground with a clang, and he slowly stepped away from the carnage he caused. His head bowed, and feet shuffling he departed from the cultists and headed to his quarters.
Later that night, he removed his tunic, his shirt, and pulled out a whip from his drawer and began to beat himself until he couldn't hold the whip anymore. He had disappointed his Master [I][B]again[/B][/I].
((Man, you guys have been productive.))
Vakarus tapped his fingers nervously against the gunnery console. During the heated discussion earlier he had chosen to remain silent and thus neutral.
However he had been forced to muster all of his focus to avoid jumping into it.
-----
The soldier put down a datapad. "Found him, he and his new crew are on Prospera. One of our contacts has confirmed it, docking log and all."
Looking at the datapad, the squad leader grunted before looking up. "Set course, we're running short on time."
"Why's that?"
"Because the Creed are looking for him too."
After grabbing some drinks at a local bar, Taylor returned to the ship. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
[Heading to bed. Radley and Viper have control of Valkyrie.]
Ahaz is woken from sleep by the sense that people are heading to the bar. He drags himself there, managing to arrive there before them.
[65 new posts. This is what I get for sleeping. :v: ]
[QUOTE]Ah, this guy: Saverio Romano. He coordinates the collections arm of the Mafia, keepin' businesses scared and makin' sure the protection money keeps comin.' I'm sure a man like that would be a deterrent to outside crime rings. If Kras can take him out, he'll make it look like the entire Grand Prix operation is his own coup against the Mafia's monopoly on Prospera.[/QUOTE]
Alex send the target's name and everything else Rask gave him to Kras's muscle. If the crew wasn't trying to be subtle as they could about the whole thing, he would have gone to brake Saverio's legs himself. As soon as that message is send, he recieved one from Sledge.
[QUOTE]Mexican food for me. Soy gives me the shits. --Sledge
[/QUOTE]
"Everyone wants spicy food, don't they?" He layied down in his bed and fell asleep almost instantly. He had a few hours to kill. Mind as well spend them on catching up on his sleep.
---
[I]Meanwhile, on Gibel.[/I]
[QUOTE][video]https://youtu.be/agfzSFzbiD4[/video][/QUOTE]
His office was a mess. Piles of documents, datapads, scattered papers with diagrams, calculations and ramblings were all over the place. And yet the answers to his questions still eluded him. "What did you find Harken? What were you after?" He stared daggers at a picture of the eccentric, but now deceased billionaire. "What was your plan Saw? What made you and your enemies do the things you did?" The doors opened as one of his guards walked in.
"Executor. The others are waiting for you."
"Patch me through." Mordecai got up from his chair and fixed his collar. He may have been buried in his studies but he wasn't going to let himself look like a slob. Especially not in front of these people. After a few seconds, the lights went dim and the holographic projectors in his office turned to life. The silhouettes of several figures showed up in front of him. Each a leader of their own mercenary organization and bearing the colors and a insignia of their group. Ivan Vulkov of the Gold Dusts. Greta and Sebastian Zwilling of the Alpha Sisters and Omega Brothers respectfully. Finally, the grand hunter himself, Karatmus of the Kabelas. His identity still a mystery to everyone. "Well, then shall we begin? I'm afraid that Comander Rollonso wont be joining us this time. He's busy chasing after lunatics and fanatics."
"Heh, loosing your pet science rejects to the SDF? Must hurt."
The attempt of the insult was felt, even if it didn't achieve much. "I'm sorry Ivan. I know the concept of working with people who have free will is new to you, but I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. What with loosing your precious Golden wave. Or were they called Wave Galaxia now?" He looked at the rest. "Anyone else have any witty remarks they like to share?"
"Just get on with it, human. I have pray to catch."
"Yes, yes. You know why I called this meeting. It's time we restore the Union."
"Not this again." Greta exclaimed."You know why it will never work. Too many grudges, unpaid debts and feuds." She eyed her brother with hatred in her eyes. He returned the favor before speaking.
"She's right for once. How exactly do you expect us to work together?"
"By looking at the bigger picture. The galaxy is falling apart. The Oracle war unleashed a torrent of violence and retribution that make your own conflicts look like petty playground politics. If we are to survive this, we need to stand together. Not as some desperate coalition or an alliance but as an organized entity, capable of putting it's foot down and crushing it's opposition."
"And let me guess. You would lead this Union?" Vulkov said with annoyance in his voice. "I know your speeches Mordecai. I've sat through enough of them to know half of them by heart. You can forget the Gold dust backing this."
"Same goes for the Kabelas. The chaos is good for the hunt."
Mordecai looked at the siblings "Let me guess. You found another thing to agree on?"
"Yes. My brother and I will not back this. Find someone else to follow you." And with that the comunications ended. Mordecai stood in his spot as the lights returned to normal. The frustration and anger had reached it's peak. "Fools." He muttered, before returning to his chair. He spun around and looked through the window, observing the night sky.
A scrawny man in torn clothes walked up to the Muramasa's cargo door.
He stroked his unshaven beard before clicking on a button, noticing the crew that someone asked to come aboard.
"Delivery for a Mr. Korunov."
-----
Vakarus raised an eyebrow and looked at Neasha and Rask while notifying Alex that his presence was requested on the bridge.
It took a while but the sound of Vakarus's voice woke up Alex from his slumber. He stumbled out of his room and to the bridge. "Somebody better be dead."
"Alex'vakrin, a man claims to be the bearer of a delivery destined for you." Said Vakarus.
Alex squinted at Vakarus, still half asleep. "A what is what?"
"There's a package for you."
"Oh, thanks Rask. Alright, I'll go see." Alex went to the cargo hold and opened the door for the delivery man. "What is that?"
The scrawny man was startled by Alex's sudden appearance. "Here."
He handed over a folded piece of paper before leaving.
As Alex opened it, it would appear to be a quick letter.
"Alex,
Meet me at Hotel Bluezone. It's urgent. Come alone.
Amy"
Alex looked at the note with disbelief "What in the-HEY! Get back here!" the delivery man had already left. Someone was screwing with him, and he wasn't all to happy about it. Pissing him off, that's one thing, but using his sister as a tool, that's another. He left a message for the crew
[QUOTE]Gone to pursue a lead. If I'm not back in 5 hours, assume the worst.[/QUOTE]
He pinned the hotel on a GPS tracker and left for it. After an hour of wondering about he found it.
Iroquois strolled into the bar and ordered something very un-Sledge-like: an Old Fashioned, made with the finest cheap whiskey available.
A human working at the front desk greeted Alex. "Weclome to the Bluezone, sir. Are you here to rent a room or for a appointment?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm looking for a woman. Do you have a guest named Amy Koronova?"
Jag quietly entered the bar, briefly scanning over its occupants while walking over towards the back.
[QUOTE=kilerabv;49951592]"Uh, yeah. I'm looking for a woman. Do you have a guest named Amy Koronova?"[/QUOTE]
The man smiled. "Hold on, let me check sir."
He started looking at the terminal infront of him, after a minute he looked up.
"Sir you are in luck, we have a meeting room booked under that name." He pointed towards a staircase at the left side of the lobby. "Go up there straight ahead, room number eight."
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