Compensations and Considerations

[Marcus O'Terra]

Bellforge
June 1, 2517 - Beaumonde
5:37 PM Local Time
2:05 AM A.S.T


The Shellback Hardtack flew on a given course over the city of Bellforge. The city spread out for miles, and was well developed. There were high risers in the distance, as well as a smattering of smaller distances, and the rest were in between. 

They descended over a warehouse district, and the air had a smog from several factories not too far in the distance. The sun was fading fast as the ship slowed to an idle hover before descending down toward a large landing pad intended for freighters and the like. 

It took a bit of work, but they were able to get the ship down on the ground without breaking any of the landing gear. Marcus sighed as he pressed a few keys to finalize the landing sequence. This ship had done decent time, but it wasn't going to be flying that kind of distance, if it flew at all, again.

Marcus turned on the intercom and set it to broadcast throughout the ship. "Ladies and gentleman, we have reached Beaumonde. Please make sure you have all your belongings and any loot you may have claimed and report to the main hold."

Burts' corpse had been stuffed in a body bag and sealed, but left in the main hold. Marcus unstrapped himself from the pilots seat and took one look at the bridge. He was tempted to make some childish gesture of malice... but the ship itself was never evil. Only the man who had captained it for so many years was.

"Time to sleep old gal." He half-whispered, as he'd made his way down toward the hold. Once there he double checked to make sure he had all his effects and what he'd picked from the belongings of the former crew. He'd sort it out later, but most of it was bagged. He was ready to leave this ship behind for good.

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash abruptly woke up in a grubby, dimly lit room his head hit the top bunk and he winced with pain. He looked around the small room and saw the previous occupants clothes scattered across the floor accompanied by dirty dishes. Dash’s clothes were hanging up dry on a makeshift washing line and as he slowly woke up he jumped in the shower before arrival. The dust had almost vanished from his person and only his boots showed signs of rough living. As he dried off and buttoned up his clean clothes he noticed posters of nude women and diagrams of guns which gave him the impression that the man who used to live here was way too alone. 

A single mirror was pinned on the wall opposite to the bunk, Dash made his way to the wall and clicked a button to access the folded sink. He switched the tap on and he tactically rubbed soap around his goatee as his fingers found the handle to a straight edge razor at the side of the sink. He rubbed his face afterwards with warm water and rubbed his now clean skin with the only clean towel in the vicinity, he then punched the button again and the sink slotted back into place.

Dash heard the crackled voice of Marcus from the intercom and as they hit the ground he knew it was time to depart. Dash wiped his large brown duster coat from a rather crude hook and put it on, he then picked up his boots as he sat down on the bunk, placed them on and tied them accordingly. He stood up and looked down at his trusted rifle lying on the bed, pulled his rifle from its cord and hung it on his right shoulder blade. Dash had rummaged through the room and had found a tattered cargo green rucksack he looked in to check everything was in the bag. The opening showed a deep red bottle of wine, food and a change of clothes, he peered in again and threw in the straight edge razor then pulled the cord to tie it shut.
 
He tossed the sack over his left shoulder while holding steady his rifle, and as he walked out he slammed the lights off. He made his way down the hall towards the cargo bay. The hatch from the room closed late behind him and as he shuffled his equipment he knew that this was a new beginning for him.  

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


Rina winced as the engines spun down and the ship settled with a groan on her struts. She'd done her best.  She'd managed to keep the ship from falling apart on the voyage over, but there wasn't much she could do beyond that.  Not with half an arm missing, reduced to working with one hand, and with the help of whomever had the time or inclination to spare.  To say nothing of not having the proper tools any self-respecting captain would have stocked for sheer survival.  Rina stroked the engine, contrition stabbing her conscience, and she put her forehead to the cooling metal to beg forgiveness.  

Sorry, hon.  It's not your fault.  You've done the best you could.

Turning away and switching off the necessary equipment, Rina quit the engine room with the sense putting down a fatally wounded horse.  It was clear to her the Hard Tack wouldn't likely lift off again.  Not lift off and survive the attempt, that is.  

I just hope Marcus put her on the dirt where she wouldn't be a nuisance.

With the PA announcement echoing in her ears, Rina went back to her cabin to grab the rucksack of effects she'd scavenged on the ride over.  Nothing too fancy, but she was used to that.  She'd cleaned the duds Marcus had found her in and wore those under a cast off pair of coveralls that were too large for her.  She was used to that too.  The boots were the hardest--Rina would rather go barefoot than suffer in shoes that were the wrong size and when she wasn't working in the engine room keeping everything together, she searched all the crew cabins for a pair that wouldn't cripple her.  When the cabins turned up nothing, she went farther afield, hitting all the decks. 

In the end she found a stash of clothes in an ill-concealed compartment on the lower decks.  A trunk of clothes and shoes and boots and odds and ends.  It puzzled her for a moment until with a sick lurch of her stomach she realized what she'd found--the personal belongings of all the people Burts had captured himself into slavery. Most of it was from the Rim, but a couple of things suggested he wasn't adverse to picking off Core-siders if they were unfortunate enough to fall into his hands.  A shirt here and there was all that was left of those captives.  Rina surmised that anything more distinctive and expensive had either been fenced off for money or pitched out the airlock as being too dangerous to keep.  From that stash she found a few shirts and socks and that coveted pair of boots.  The rest she left in the open, a mute testament to the souls ruined by Burts. She didn't have the heart to hide them away again and perhaps the paltry leavings of Burts' victims could be found and made useful to others, as they had been for her.

Inadequate memorial to those lost, but at least it was something.

Washing up was still awkward, it being impossible to have a hand wash itself.  Rina grimaced and put up with the crap under her nails she couldn't get rid of and scrubbed a damp cloth over her face.  Countenance more or less clean, she wrung the cloth out as best she could using teeth and remaining hand, then raked her fingers through her short hair to comb it.  Not the best job but it would have to do.  The respite was over.  It was time to face the Verse and get on with her life. With a last adjustment to the roll of her left sleeve, Rina hauled her belongings to her good shoulder and quit her cabin without looking back.  

[Bishop Morse]

Carl


The radar control showed many things. It blocked out most of the standard traffic and monitored only trajectories heading straight for it’s signal monitor. This was important, other wise it would be showing every hover car and cargo shuttle in the entire industrial section. Instead it only watched a couple at a time. Of course this wasn’t the only radar system in the area that operated like that, just about every independent landing pad worked off the very same sort of system. One of the signals came up green as it came in. Green signaled registered in the system as an expected arrival. It had a number of readouts on its registration, but only one was of any real importance.

Shellback-Freighter – Hardtack. 

They were told a number of days ago that this vessel was to be arriving and they got its projected data. It was on that day they were supposed to arrive. They’d gotten a listing from a middle man from Persephone, a man who called himself Dare, that the leader of party arriving was Marcus O’Terra. All of this information was passed along from the control room at the edge of one of the warehouses, which served as a control tower. 

“Carl, that ship, the Hardtack is coming in at us. It’ll be dropping here in a few minutes.” Came a muffled voice through a talk box. It was in Carls pocket, and he had to pull it out to catch the last bit. The room had a number of tables, and a bar. It wasn’t very large, it was like a lounge. Inside there were several men who were sitting around not doing much but amusing themselves. Some watched the cortex, others played a game of pool on a holo-table. Carl had been watching the cortex with his feet on another chair when the call came through. He picked up the talk-box, and brought it to his mouth. ”Roger that tower, guide em’ in.” He said. His accent was thick and evident of somewhere on the Rim. It wasn’t the most common thing for people on Beaumonde to speak like that, but he wasn’t native to there as it was.

”Hey!” Carl yelled at the men in the room. ”Ship commin’ in. Get up!” He ordered at them. He grabbed his shotgun which was sitting on top of the bar and he walked out. The others came out behind him. Only a few actually followed him, the rest went to other places.

He walked down a hall. It had nice carpet and the walls were well decorated and lit. It was evident that a lot of money had been spent on making this place look very nice. He came to a door that was down the hall, and it slid open. The tone outside was very different then the pleasant interior. It was more gloomy. The sun was fading, and there was a bit of a haze in the sky. There was the sound vehicles and ships, as well as some industrial working tones away. The area was large, square, and flat. It was a large landing pad. Off to his right there was a freighter, which was clearly smaller then what was typically expected there. Carl and his group of three were now outside, and one stayed by the door. Carl and the other man, dark haired tall, and holding a rifle, approached the ship and awaited for its ramp to drop. 

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus reached the cargo bay with Dash, waiting until the crew, if he could call them that, was assembled. Riena has reunited with them as well. She'd been pursuing her own interests but came up with nothing, and had met up with them in orbit around the planet just before they started their descent. They cut it close, the Hardtack didn't like slowing down for much. But she was there now. 

"Alright folks, I waited until we touched down to say this because I wasn't going to waste my breath if we burned up entering atmo or fell apart on the way down. How we came together was a bit of blood and roughness. But it led to an evil man and his ilk being put to down, and decent folk being sent on their way.... in once sense or another."

He adjusted himself so his rifle was back on his back, and his bags were at his sides. "Now you all did your share, those who were here." He said that as if to give Riena no illusions on getting paid for the others' work. "So you'll all get your fair bit. And if your looking for work, groups seem to get jobs more often than folks alone."

He hit a few buttons on the console and the ship started to open up. Burts's body bag had been moved close to the entrance, so whoever was out there could see without getting too close... if they felt that was a problem. "Now. Let's go meet our employers... and let's be nice."

[Bishop Morse]

Carl


Carl held his shotgun with both hands as the cargo ramp began to drop. This wasn’t supposed to be a hostile sort of meeting, but it was still important to take precautions. The man next to him held his rifle with one hand, less prepared then Carl was. But things like that were why he had the job he did. Having men that knew how to use guns on hand was a useful thing. However it was important to note the difference between people with a gun, and people with a gun and a brain. Carl was able to tell the difference, and he tended to put himself in one category a lot more then the other.

He looked at the people in front of him. It was an odd cluster, not what he was expecting see, particularly in that there were more woman then there were men. But that wasn’t much in his head. His eyes moved across, as he wasn’t sure exactly who he was looking for. ”Which one a yall’s Marcus O’Terra?” His voice was strong, and his face was a bit like stone. He kept his fingers on his weapon and his breathing was deep and heavy. This was common of him though. He looked over them as he waited for his answer. 

[Marcus O'Terra]

When the ramp had hit the ground, and that was the right word for it, as the pneumatics cut out at the last few feet; Marcus had a good look at the folks there to meet them. A man with a shotgun seemed to step forward, in the sense he stuck out by speaking.

Marcus took a single step forward and raised his hand. "Howdy. That'd be me. I was told by Dare that this was the place to cash in on Burts' remains..."

There didn't seem to be much hostility in the group. From what he could guess most of these men weren't expecting trouble. Which was great, because it meant Marcus, and by extent the group, was like to get paid. Rather than shot.

Marcus kicked the body bag once as an indication. "Here he is, bullet holes and all." He looked back at the group and was very tempted to ask about the money. But he was on their turf with no way out. Rudeness wouldn't be looked on with kindness, he reckoned.

[Bishop Morse]

Carl


Carl cleared his throat, a gruff cough sort of sound to get the attention of the man next to him. He looked over and Carl tilted his head as if to say go check. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small bio scanner. He tossed it over to the large man that was with him and he moved up the ramp. He still had the rifle in his hand and he came right over to where the long bag was. It was easily long enough to hold a body. They had to be sure it was the right person before they continued to bother. Sure the ship was right, but they weren’t after the ship, and taking someone’s most prized possession wasn’t exactly proof they were dead. Of course they weren’t presenting that great of a threat. It wasn’t as though Carl was going to try to ‘blow them away’ once they knew what the answer was. He was standing there relatively alone while his man opened up the bag.

The man came upon the bag, and unzipped the top. There was face of a man with his eyes partially opened. He had long gray hair, and he had quite an odor to him. The man brought the bio scanner over the mans right eye and scanned it. On the readout screen it showed medical information and confirmation that it was Nathaniel Burts, Captain of the Hardtack. He zipped it back up, and looked back at Carl and nodded with a thumbs up.

Carl nodded. ”Ok.” He responded. ”Take him out to A-2.” He told the man. He then looked back up at the group of people. ”Why don’t ya’ll come with me.” He said nodding towards the building behind him, and motioning them forward with his fingers. He held the shotgun with one hand now, and beckoned them to follow him. Building looked like a labor office building. It was rectangular, with curved corners at the top. It was three stories, and had relatively few windows. It might have been a store house at one time, but now it was just a large building with a grayish silver color. Carl starting moving towards, though kept his eyes back to see that he was being accompanied by them.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus kept his mouth shut as the greeting crew verified the corpse. He wasn't nervous, though it occurred to him that it was a bit odd that they had tech that could verify a body like it did. Still, if they were part of some workers' union or such, it might be in the budget.

It'd be nice to have that sort of thing. A budget. Benefits. Et Cetera. But that was wishful thinking.

When the man gave a thumbs up, though, he did let out a breath he'd been holding. When the lead of the group asked them to follow he motioned for his 'crew' to follow and quickly moved ahead. From the building they were heading towards, he guessed they would be getting paid and settle any other matters with Longstreet, or someone working for him.

It'd be interesting, meeting a General of the Independents. If he was running a large enough operation to merit private landing pads and this sort of setup, he couldn't have been to sore off.

All gotta make due in this 'Verse we failed to shape.

"Know any decent salvagers round these parts?" The shellback wasn't going to fly, he might as well sell it for scrap and see her a decent end.

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


Rina listened as Marcus briefed everyone on the situation and to be honest, she did it with only half an ear.  Burts meant little to her now that he was dead and she wasn't entirely sure if she'd even accept her share of his bounty if it came to that.  Some money was just too bloody to take.  

You say that now.  Wait until you're on the dirt with no one willing to hire a one-armed mechanic.  

Squeamishness was a luxury she could ill-afford, along with scruples.  If there was any money coming to her, Rina would have to take it and make it last as long as she could.  Marcus's speech concluded, he keyed the cargo bay door open and Rina winced at the squeal  ... and heard the faint sigh as the pneumatics gave out and the door dropped unassisted the last few feet to the tarmac.  There'd be no closing the ship up again.  She'd be vulnerable to all comers with a monkey wrench and a burning need for parts.

That's assuming anyone thinks she's got anything worth salvaging.  She won't look like much, just to look at her.

Further speculation was put aside when she saw what waited for them: men with guns and for a second she froze, waiting for the bullets to tear into her.  None came and she relaxed and watched with the others as the body was verified.  That nasty bit of business done, she followed Marcus and the rest of the party to the building indicated.  There was a slight breeze going and she paused a step to tip her face to the sky and savor the sun and the air. Then she shook the moment off and followed the others inside.  If she had the way of it, the man they'd been sent to meet waited for them there.  Hopefully, it would be someone who could give them all a job.

[Bishop Morse]

Carl


Carl lead them to the entrance of large building. The door slid open once more. They went in at both sides, and it was wide enough for two people to enter at once. Inside was an extremely different tone then outside. The carpet was fine and a pleasant red. The walls had actual dark brown wood paneling. There were pictures, and lamps sticking out which illuminated everything fairly well. Just inside to the right wall was a long table, just beyond that in the walls were two extremely thin, black poles, almost perfectly hidden between some of the fine wood paneling. Most wouldn’t even see it, but those that were looking for something like it would be familiar with a ‘weapons-scanner’ if they saw one.

Carl turned and stopped just in front of it. Coming from behind him was another man with a rifle from a room further down the hall. He stayed back and watched. ”I’m gonna need ya’ll to put yer weapons down right here.” He said tapping the long wooden table. It was long enough to hold quite an arsenal, but was empty at that moment. ”No guns, knives, er anythin’ else what could harm someone.” He kept his shotgun in his one hand. This was yet another precaution, but it was one that he absolutely needed to make sure of. In the past they had had people that tried to sneak a small weapon through, but this weapons scanner wasn’t exactly old, and it caught them every time. Carl walked to the other side of the weapon scanner. 

It illuminated his shotgun in a white hologram, and it shown on the side. But he just tapped the receiver with his finger and it stopped. He turned looked at them. ”Then step through.” He said. It could easily take more then one, and it had the alarm set to go off it scanned so much as a pocket knife. He waited for them to relinquish their weapons and then they could continue.

[Marcus O'Terra]

The young man had to admit, his previous guess that Longstreet was doing 'all right' was an understatement. If you had the money to remodel a place this big, this much. You we doing just fine. There was a part that irked him that the general of the army he was a part of was so well off DESPITE being on the losing side. That part however was kicked in the metaphysical shin and told to keep away from his mouth until he wasn't around folks getting paid by the man.

Marcus nodded to the others to comply, before looking at the man leading them in. "Fair enough. Not looking for trouble here, anyhow." Then he put his bags to the side, and set his rifle down on top of them, his side arms and the ammo clips followed. Marcus stood straight and stepped toward the scanner but stopped and turned around, taking out the knife that was sheathed at the small of his back and laying it down with the rest.

"Nearly forgot that one..." He half mumbled. Not wanting a scene. It was curious though he was being invited so deeply into the building. He'd have thought they'd just hand him the money, pat him on the shoulder and make vague indications of future employment.

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash picked his gear up again as the bold man shouted to Marcus and the rest to follow him. Any money would help Dash a little longer and as they exited the Hard Track the group made their way to the building. Dash knew to keep his wits about him, bullets were not exchanged and he hoped it would stay like that because his right leg was still burning from his run back on Ezra. Dash trailed behind Rina with a slight limp, his eyes took in the bustling streets of Beaumonde.

During their wait in the cargo bay Dash had already prepared a cigarette with the last of his loose tobacco from his large pockets. The walk wasn’t far from the docked ship but it gave him enough time to light up and smoke it as they pursued Marcus and the group of men they were coldly greeted by. He noticed that his person started to rattle and he nudged his bag as he located the cause of the noise, It was his valued bottle of wine amongst other things. 

The large looking man opened the double doors and the group walked in. Dash looked at the fine red carpet and then noticed the hansom furnishings, the smell of the hallway was almost clinical and it stung Dash’s nostrils, suddenly the request was made to relinquish all weapons, with slight hesitation Dash looked down at his rifle then up to the man in charge “This rifle too, friend?” he was taken aback that they had come this far into the building for one bounty. Dash then looked to Marcus and tilted his head to the people who walked them in and muttered, “Is this safe Marcus?” He drops his bag near the table and mutters again “...smells too clean.” 

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus turned at Dash's questions. His smiled faltered a bit. "Dash, if they meant ill they could have done it once they knew it was Burts. This is too much work for that kinda work." He looked the building around a bit and shrugged. "Clean ain't bad or good, besides. It just something."There was a sternness that grew in his voice. "Now put your kit, all of it, in the pile. We ain't got nothing worth stealin'. Not for these folks anyhow." 

This was dragging on. He understood if Dash was a little paranoid. The old man had gotten swept up in things he hadn't planned on. No good deed and all that...

He turned and walked on through the scanner. He'd left all he had behind, and looking over it. He realized something a bit critical. The scanner was one of the fancier ones no doubt. Even if they had a Null holster, it was likely to detect THAT. 

The nail in the bench was hammered just a little deeper. There was something ahead for Marcus and anyone caught up in his wake. Marcus thought over the idea... Is that what I am? A vortex of badness crushing everyone that stays near me? The idea had evidence to it. Folks who'd stuck around him in times of peril had died or gotten maimed to a degree.

That would be for another time.... Lots of things for other times....

[Ilana Logan]

Cassia Ayelet


The shock of seeing so many shot down in front of her, even though they'd been bad men, had left Cassia a little rattled. While she'd been friendly enough on the trip over, she hadn't spent much more time getting to know the others, preferring to spend the time to read, think, and try to relax. For the last week of the trip she'd been essentially a hermit, coming out of her little bunk only when in desperate need of food. Now, groundside, the sunlight helped a bit with her mood, though she was still a little shaky.

Rather than answering aloud, she nodded along with the discussion of the plan, trying to stick close to Rina. Granted, she had met Marcus first, but he was quite busy what with being in charge and all, and besides, Rina had a comforting feel to her. Cass had hoped to talk to her about her times with Burts, see if she could be of help or comfort, but she'd been too busy dealing with her own problems to get to know the others that well on the trip over.

"What exactly's the plan, again?" she whispered to Rina. Damned if she hadn't already forgotten exactly what they were supposed to be doing. She'd been too lost in her own head again.

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


As the young man’s words sunk in Dash’s eye brows lowered slightly and his lips pinched together given the impression that the coin had dropped. “Spose you gotta point there...” Dash pulled the rope off his shoulder and slowly placed the rifle down on the table with one hand. He casually walked through the scanner with the group and quickly turned his head at the two bars that were making faint blipping sounds, no sounds of alarm. It was as though it was running through different scanning procedures. 

As they walked through the scanner they stood beside a two large ferns. Dash looked around and his eyes caught the bulky looking man operating the scanner, he glanced at the rather intimidating shotgun, which was cradled in the man’s arm, as he was punching in codes with the other hand. Then Dash looked down at the man’s belt and noticed a set of plastic blue cards which were hooked together on a ring of keys. Dash suddenly came to and noticed that his cigarette had faded out in his mouth. He rummaged around his coat for another match but didn’t succeed in his search. “Anyone gotta light?” Dash pulled the cigarette from his lips with two fingers and held it up showing people by what he meant.

[Bishop Morse]

Carl


Carl made sure everyone went through the scanner, and kept his eyes going from both them, to the read outs. If they had anything on them, it would be caught by the scanner, and it would require him to shut it off before the tone which it would give off would actually shut down. He ensured that none of them had anything himself, even though the machine would find the things for him. Once all their equipment was set down, they moved through the scanner. Each of them showed that they caught nothing. Carl heard one of them call for something to light their cigarette. He paused a moment, and then pulled from own pocket a perma-lighter, which was about the length of his index finger. It shot up a short, but strong flame, and gave a sound like a tiny welding torch. He lit the cigarette, and put it back in his pocket.

”This way.” Carl said turning around and leading them forward. They walked down the hallway and took a right. The right ended quickly with a left turn, which was a long stair case. It went in a straight line and up. There were quite a number of the stairs as well, and it was decorated the same way as the hallways before it. There were no rooms along it until they got to the top, which there was another hallway, which went right and left. But just at the top of the stairs there was a large wooden door. It was well crafted and had a number of symbols carved into it. 

Carl stood just in front of it, and turned the handle on it. It was a manual wooden door, with hinges. He opened it up and stepped inside, leading the large group behind him in as well. ”This is them, Colonel.” Carl said to a man sitting at a desk just beyond. Keeping the door open so that they could enter.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet sat in his office alone. He liked it in here, as it was a very nice get away. Of course it wasn’t that much different then his house, and he didn’t have much to get away from. But it was a very comfortable place. The room was rather large, and but was very well lit. He lamps were all along the walls, finely colored a cold and held shades over them to direct it. They were the only real light, as the room had absolutely no windows. His desk itself lay centered with the room, and the only door was to his left. Directly across from the door, there was a bar with a mirror at the back, with quite a number of glasses, and bottles all upon it. Mechanical chilling devices sat beneath many of the bottles, giving off a blue tint, and the bottles acted as though they were being refrigerated. A bookshelf sat beside the bar, at both sides, and it seemed the bar and the shelves were all a part of the same furniture piece. 

Directly to his right there was a very large case of weapons, with many old, and many new weapons. There were many drawers just beneath them. There were several small tables, which held busts of people, and fine pottery upon them. Two chairs sat directly in front of the desk, large, comfortable, and black leather with wood. At other portions of the room were chairs like it, though they were by a fireplace. The fireplace itself had a fine mantle and a fire was burning inside of it. There were four chairs in front of it facing each other, with a small, yet very expensive looking coffee table, and at the center was a small hovering replica of the ‘Kalidasa System’ which constantly moved with the orbits of the planets. 

His desk had three data screens. The left showed a chart of data, the center showed several images of ships, and the right had an image of a green field with birds and blue sky. In front of him sat a smart paper which had data moving on it. He wrote things down and would look at the screen, then back to the paper. Suddenly there was an interruption to this peaceful setting as the sound of the door opening came to him. He adjusted a fine scarf that was went over his shoulders, and it lay comfortable beneath the dark, black, long, coat he wore. He saw Carl enter and tell him what it was. 

”Of course, send them in.” He spoke. His voice was deep and strong, yet was a bit gruff and scratched with his age. He saw the group of arrivals.”Please sit down.” He said holding his hand forward to the various chairs the room. ”Help yourselves to a drink if you’d like.” He said, signing off at the bottom of the page, and moving it to the side of the desk.

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


(Sorry everyone.  I started this post when Dash's was the last one on the page and got outstripped as I typed it.  Adding stuff to the end to catch up)

Rina swept the entry with a look, taking in the carpet and the paneling and the scanner.  She listened to the instructions and watched as Marcus and Dash relinquished their weapons.  Eyeing the scanner critically, Rina briefly wondered if she dared try slipping anything past it.  After all, Longstreet wasn't a familiar name, by reputation or acquaintance. Had she both her hands, had she still both her arms, she would have complied without cavil--under normal conditions, she possessed a mean left hook and had brawled her way out of many a tight spot barefisted.  

No longer.

It still didn't stop her from tightening her fingers into fists, an automatic gesture to shore up her courage and the lack of response from her missing left hand was still unsettling.  Taking a deep breath, Rina relaxed and opened her right hand to pull her gun from under her coveralls and put it on the table with her rucksack.  She heard Cassia's query and murmured back, low so the only the other woman would hear.

"Weapons on the table.  All of them.  Any they find on you they might just use on you." She paused and looked Cassia in the eye.  "But your best weapon is your wits.  They can't take those.  Keep them close.  You might need them."

Divested of everything but her pocket lint, Rina stepped forward to let the scanner do its work.  She didn't set it off but suffered the frisking afterward without complaint.  Once everyone was determined weapons-free, she followed her party deeper into the building.  She noted the details like turns and distances, materials and manpower, the way the stairs went in a straight run to a transverse hallway and a door directly opposite the top tread.  She noted the old-fashioned design of it and couldn't help but mark the hinges and the swing.  It might be useful later.  

The space beyond was an office, geared to impress but also to offer comfort.  Leather and wood chairs, books, weapons and booze--a man's office.  It had no windows and only one way in or out--a mixed blessing to be sure, but going by the impressive weapons case to one side, it looked the occupant would have enough arms and ammo to hold off an army from that one door in or out.  

Until someone calls in an aerial strike on the building.  When that happens, all bets are off.  She briefly wondered if she'd hear the missile coming before it took them out.  Pay attention.  You can speculate later.

She eyed the man behind the desk, took in the dress and the mannerisms, took in also the face and the weathering the years and living had etched into it.  A pleasant enough sounding man but Rina knew there had to be more beneath the surface with Longstreet.  If Longstreet he was.  Still, he seemed willing to play host with the offer of a chair and a drink.  Rina moved to the side, to keep from getting bunched up with the rest of her group and chose a chair that would allow her a view of everyone in the room.  Not the odds she favored when dealing with strangers, but she'd dealt with worse.  

Yeah, but have you ever done it one handed? that cynical part of her mind whispered.

Shut up.

Rina didn't move for the bar to take up that offered drink.  She couldn't afford to slow herself down on booze, drugged booze or clean.  She sat in her chair, maintained a polite posture and expression, and watched as others settled themselves around the room at their host's command.  And she made no mistake--their host was a man accustomed to command and obedience.  She could hear it in his tone, see it in his bearing.  It only made her more watchful.  She stroked the leather of her chair and waited for the meeting to get underway.


((Note: Poker deleted 10 Mar 2011 by GM request.  Mea culpa, everyone.  Was trying for verisimilitude.--TPO Marina))

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus made sure his flock did as they'd been asked before leading them up the stairs. He moved straight in, and noted where Rina went before standing at the front. He nodded to the man, Longstreet. A 'Colonel' apparently. Still a shiny rank.

Looking around the room, he wondered which side the man had really fought for. Then again, all his 'browncoat buddies' were enlisted like he was... This guy might have been military before the war... Or maybe something else.

He knew how to run business if what Marcus saw was any sign. He took a seat as near as he could to being straight in front of Longstreet.

"I'm grateful for the generosity, but we'll pass on refreshments." He said the last part to the side, as if to say to the group that the bar was off limits. They'd have drinks later.

Marcus took stock of the room a second time before addressing Longstreet. "I'll admit, sir, you have me at a disadvantage. I anticipated that once Burts's corpse was id'ed, I'd be tossed a bag of coin and I'd be on my way." He sat back and kept a passive posture. "Unless there's more to this bounty than advertised..."