Compensations and Considerations

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash walked behind the group limping subtly, the stairs had taken it out of his leg again. The sudden realisation that he needed painkillers and not booze rattled about in his head like a conscience. As he made his way through the deep oak doors Dash gave a nod of thanks to the large man for lighting his cigarette. He felt slightly more welcomed in the large room as he spotted the luxurious bar and fine seating.

He got closer to hear Marcus say that the group declined Longstreet’s offer of beverages. Dash was disappointed, but then his conscience kicked in supporting the idea of not drinking, he pulled the tip of his hat to acknowledge Longstreet from what might of been a half hearted salute, then made his way to the grand booming fireplace. His coat whisked his knees and trails of dirt came from his broken spurs when he trod on the beautiful and antique looking rugs, then he slumped rather heavily in a dark green leather chair. “No more Gorram stairs, please” Dash mumbled to himself as his arms and legs spread out like he had fallen down drunk.

His right knuckles scraped a small dark side table that held a large black porcelain vase, with his seating turned away from the two large leather chairs he decided to place the vase down delicately, pull the table around and perch his right leg atop. He then took off his hat to show his long black hair and placed it on his elevated boot. Another wheeze of relief followed as his head fell back and he took another puff of smoke, he sat there content with his eyes transfixed on the fire as he listened intently.       

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


Rina watched Dash make himself comfortable and wondered again what had happened to his leg.  Old injury, that much was certain.  War wound?  Maybe.  Still hurts.  From bitter experience, she knew that some wounds never healed but instead plagued its victim during moments of inattention, of psychological weakness, when sleep wouldn't come and the dark pressed in.  

Get a grip and give the man some privacy.  Your arm is making you morbid.

Rina looked back at Marcus and Longstreet, pausing to eye the man with the rifle on the way.  The office was large, true, but not so large or so cluttered with solid cover that anyone could avoid the bullets that rifle would throw should any monkey business ensue.  Hoping that nothing but talk would be going down, Rina shifted to a more ready position in her chair and waited.

[Ilana Logan]

Cassia Ayelet


Is he nuts? Give them ALL our weapons? Cass was shocked when Marcus and the others went along with the man's demand. She gritted her teeth. It felt too much like a trap. Is there anything I could hold on to, anything hard to detect.... Her mind worked rapidly, but the answer was a depressing one. There really wasn't much she could do. Though, honestly, had Rina not given her that look that made her know it was serious, she would have been tempted to 'forget' and keep one when she went through. 

Cursing mentally, she slid off the most obvious of her weapons first, the little gun, and the two knives she carried openly. She turned away, hoping the others wouldn't notice, as she removed the two smaller knives she always carried concealed. She didn't want anyone to see them, not to mention, one of them was buried pretty deeply in a hidden pocket of her clothes, so if she faced them as she took it out she'd have to be real careful not to give them an eyeful.

Her weapons put aside, Cass was a little jumpy, hesitant. Marcus had better be right about trusting this guy

Oh well. She had some hand-to-hand training, if it came to that. 

Still, as they made their way through the scanner and beyond, Cass kept her eyes and ears focused, for any signs of trouble. She moved tensely, ready to break into fighting at any moment.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet looked over at Carl. ”That’ll be all Lieutenant.” He said waving him off. At the words Carl left the room, and closed the door behind him. Nothing remained inside but Longstreet and his guests. This didn’t bother him at all, and he set down the data wand. He moved the control on the screen which the data was shown on and moved it up and away so that it left the screen, showing then only a continuation of the picture that was on the right screen. He directed his attention back up to the strange grouping of people that were now in his office. They didn’t seem to be a very at ease inside there. That didn’t matter that much to him, as he understood their reasoning. Mercenaries of all sorts tended to be on edge when in unfamiliar territory, without being in possession of their very familiar toys.

He directed his attention to the one sitting at the front, the only one to actually speak. ”I’ll presume your Mr. O’Terra” He announced looking at him. He seemed about what one would expect, except a bit shorter then the average ‘running gun’. ”I tend to take a bit more an interest in the people who are willing to assist me with business... outside of business.” He explained, answering the question, while keeping his arms on the desk. He looked over the large group of people that were there. But it still seemed a bit strange the assortment that they were in. 

”You managed to take down Nathanial ‘The Bastard’ Burts.” He presented. ”Not an easy feat by any means. Especially given the stories about the abilities of he and his crew.” He said so spreading his fingers out. ”Might I ask how you managed to accomplish such a thing. Let alone track him down?” He was very curious. That bounty had been up for quite some time, with several people posting claims, and taking them down within the week. This group however had a claim posted, and in the same week they had confirmation that it was done. It was an unusual and commendable thing, and Longstreet was very interested. He’d like a good story if there was one to tell.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus was thankful noone went against him and grabbed the booze. Though he did take note of Dash's leg. It was something to remember. He hoped it wasn't the sign of some greater condition.

At Longstreet's words, Marcus snapped his eyes to attention. It was clicking now. Longstreet was a legitimate business man. His bounty on Burts was him using his money to put down a dangerous and evil man. He noticed the military jargon used to. Colonel, Lieutenant... was it just formal, or did these ranks carry over from the war...

"Burts...." Marcus shook his head, and exhaled. Might as well explain his motivations "I was a slave of Burts for six years of my life. I shot him in the gut and left him for dead when I was only twelve. Now just more than three weeks back I land on Persephone trying to get my feet and an old friend, Dare, plops your bounty right in front of me." Marcus shrugged. "It was kismet... but the double edged kind." He sighed. 

"Tracking him was more.... baiting. Dare knew Burts was after crew; as well as.... cargo. He put out a wave to meet at a town called Wet Rock, on Ezra, out of the way, easy place to top off his cells. Burts came looking for profit and profiteers. He got us." His gut tightened. "Lot of decent folk got hurt when things came to shooting. Plenty died who could have lived. My mistakes." 

Marcus looked up and met Longstreet in the eye. "But I did the job. We did the job." He motioned at the group, one of his hands gesturing toward Dash in particular.  "I'd be much appreciative if you paid your due."

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet eagerly listened to the story. ”Hmm.” came a sound through his closed lips when heard the portion that the one sitting in front of him had been a piece of ‘the bastards’ cargo at one point in time. Longstreet had been aware that he’d had an artificial eye, and he wondered if the incident described might have been the reason he had it. He didn’t take it to be a lie, but he also didn’t take it to be all of the story. He’d lived long enough to grasp what someone sounded like when they were avoiding certain pieces. Longstreet didn’t know what, and he wasn’t going to ask. The story was fine enough. ”Yes, my associates have spoken with this ‘Dare’.” Longstreet said referring to the middle man who had been the go between. ”An interesting character, who seems enjoy his cigars they tell me.” He hadn’t personally spoken with the man who was the go between because he’d been rather busy, and someone saying they were going after ‘the bastard’ hadn’t really seemed that plausible of a venture to devote much time to as far as he was concerned at the time.

”But that’s a fine tale you tell.” Longstreet commented about the detailed nature of the description. He hadn’t expected much. He’d actually expected no explanation at all. But he liked it when someone was willing to tell how they accomplished something difficult. If it sounded plausible, it probably was. ”And there’s nothing wrong with wanting what’s owed.” He said. 

He opened up a drawer at his desk. He had the money ready as he’d expected their arrival. He pulled up a stack of 100 credit notes. It was small stack, but it was a lot of money. ”Fifteen hundred dead I believe was the price.” He said leaning forward with the money in his hand to give to the speaker for the group. His eyes moved over the group once more. The two men both wore brown colored jackets. He took note of the one in front of him. It was uniformed, he’d know it anywhere. ”You served, volunteer I presume. What unit were you with?” Longstreet was familiar with the sentiment of soldiers on both sides, particularly with his fellow Independents. Those that volunteered tended to “wear their hearts on their sleeves” so to speak. He hadn’t opted for the same, but he knew spirit when he saw it. 

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus was grateful that Longstreet wasn't pecking at his story. He'd had enough trouble going through it the first time. Talking with a stranger, even a fellow independent, wouldn't be an easy time. Still he had to smile at his assessment of Dare's.

 "If he has a vice, that would be it." was his only comment on the cigars.

When he got to describing Marcus's debrief as a 'tale', he frowned, but said nothing. He was leaving bits out, and the were in Longstreet's den, so to speak. Actually it felt very much like the den of a large house. He'd only been in one, and he wasn't the most welcome of guests. But it had a similar feeling... but warmer. Perhaps because of the man sitting across the desk from him.

When the stack came up on the table, Marcus eyed the stack with suspicion. Those were large bills. It'd look a bit odd for him breaking those down... and if they got lifted it was a lot of money at once. Longstreet probably had a stack of more reasonable notes in that desk somewhere... why pull out the thin money... thin...

He took the money and held it in both hands, looking at it for a moment before addressing the question.

"I joined with a crew of salvagers out of Beylix, few years before the war. Fighting broke out and we joined up in the Militia. Ended up in the Three-one-two Infantry 'round... early '09. It was really wet that year. " Marcus added.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet nodded as he had his suspicion confirmed. There were quite a number of former soldiers that still wore at least some representation of their past life in war. The Alliance supporters didn’t do it much though there were a great deal of their officers, which were veterans. But something about the Independents’ will and drive to rebel against the authority of the Alliance had them still wearing it. He on the other hand couldn’t go a long with such sentiment. He was too old, and had too much else that he was responsible for to go about doing the same. ”I knew about the scrapper units from Beylix.” He said nodding his head. ”A terrible hell they would release unsuspecting companies of the Union.” Longstreet elaborated. He had never had any of the scrapper units under his command. But he was aware of what such units were capable of.

He gave a flush of air from his nose, like a short laugh. ”I suppose it depends where you were.” He said recalling the year mentioned. He directed his attention to the screen that was just in front of him. There were several vessels shown, and one of them the Shellback vessel in which they’d come in on. The verification scanner was still registering it, and was also reading its faults. It was finding serious engine decay, trouble with paneling, navigational radar damage, and all manner of things that Longstreet himself didn’t understand. ”How attached are you to that vessel you road in here on?” He asked looking back up at Marcus. ”I’d understand if you have a certain degree of sentiment for it.” He elaborated. He recognized the story that he was told, and Longstreet knew that he might not want to just drop it. But he decided to ask anyway.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus nodded at Longstreet's words. They Airborne Militia wasn't as well armed with conventional bombs as the Alliance birds, but they made up for it with luck, pluck, and more than audacious moves. 

When the conversation came to the Hardtack Marcus sighed. He figured this was coming, though he hoped the man wouldn't keep a bit of her as a trophy or anything. "The old girl's had her last run." When he commented on sentiment Marcus shrugged. "Never hated her. Just the 'man' who captained her. Maybe she's got something in bits that can fly again, but as a whole... she's done." 

It was a sad fact when a ship faced her last trip, but at least she was going alone and no taking anyone with her. Who knew what would have happened to Burts and anyone on his ship if they hadn't come along... Karma and Time might have done Marcus's job for him.

There was something that did bother him, a question on Burts. "That bastard had a funny sort of eye. Looked glass at first but it's some kinda new-tech. Any idea where a slaving scum pile like him gets a hold of that?" Marcus hadn't removed the eye, but he'd taken note, before Burts became too much of a stink to risk opening the bag.

He was curious because if Burts could get that eye.... maybe Rina could get something of an arm.

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian

Sitting across the room, Rina heard Marcus's query and thought it odd that a slaver like Burts would have a cybernetic eye.  Then again, maybe slaving was profitable that year and the black market had a doc that could install it for him.  If there was one thing she was sure of, the minute anything was made illegal or prohibitively expensive, the black market would scramble to handle the demand and charge the customer accordingly.  If it wasn't impossible to find a black market plastic surgeon who could change your face, why not have a prosthetic surgeon who could replace your eyes?  And if not eyes, then perhaps ... ?

Don't go there.  Now isn't the time or place.

But it was something she filed away for later.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet brought his fingers together, still keeping his arms on his desk. ”I’ll offer you another 500 for the ship.” He said leaning back in the chair. He knew that he’d probably have to pay someone take haul it off of his landing bay. But that was the figure in his head, and he wasn’t going to give up any more then that. It was a fair price given that it wasn’t good for much, other then salvage. 

 The question of where someone could get a hold of a device such as the one that Burts had implanted. ”An ocular implant could be acquired on just about any world.” He didn’t know a large amount about implants, but he knew about business. ”It would depend on the quality. But it couldn’t have been terribly difficult if he had the money.” He explained. Burts had apparently been a fairly resourceful person, and he very well could have gotten such a thing as well as the operation to insert it on one of the Central Planets. 

Longstreet leaned forward once more, and lifted his hands up. He kept his hands together, and paused a moment looking over all of the people in front of him a moment. ”What sort a person do you consider yourself Mr. O’Terra?” Longstreet asked in a very open ended question. His body didn’t move as he waited for what would be the answer.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus was more than grateful to get something for the ship. He'd wondered if they'd just break it even for taking up space till it was hauled off. Nice of him and at the offer he nodded. It was more than fair, and he wouldn't argue generosity.

But was Longstreet weaving him into his pocket?  It didn't feel like it, not yet.

Marcus had to admit he was growing a bit too comfortable in the chairs for his liking, and adjusted his posture to be a bit more straight and rigid.

Marcus couldn't help but feel Longstreet was answering for the sake of appearances, on the matter of the optic implant. Eyes were the damn hardest bit on a person to heal most times. Replacing them had never seemed an easy thing from Marcus's stand point... then again, Marcus was never on the paying end of the slavery business.

"Money can really buy most anything." Marcus said with a bitter taste. He had a desire for money to meet his own ends. Ends which would become more complicated now that he was branded a 'traitor'.

Longstreet's introspective question caught Marcus in the side, and he almost let out a casual 'what'. But he held it in, surprisingly.  He thought on the question for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Well, sir, I think I'm the sort of man whose trying to figure exactly that out. I like to think myself a decent human being. Try to act that way too. I mess up. A lot. But that ain't no excuse for giving up and going bad."

Living mostly by himself for all those years... he'd gone from one job to the next, never really had anyone. He killed people. Killed people who could kill him back. Killed people who couldn't. And was that Murder? It was a thought that dragged at the back of his mind.

He was trained to focus on his objectives... but wandering like this; he didn't have any, did he?

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet didn’t move nearly at all while he listened to the answer. Everyone saw the image of themselves differently then how other people saw it, of course most people didn’t see anyone quite the same way. A persons understanding of themselves was something that would let you understand them, though in a different way. The individuals understanding of themselves would let you know how they thought, what they’re morals were, whether they were good at something, or terrible at it. To themselves however these questions might be less revealing then that, but that was only because people often wanted to leave themselves a mystery, even to themselves. 

He eyed over the people that were in his office once more. ”Do you consider yourself in need of somewhere to go?” He asked and then looked over the people. ”Or something to do perhaps?” He asked leaning back again in the chair. These questions of personal philosophy were quick and open, but there was always a point to why he would speak. With comparatively fewer words to say then those younger people around him, he decided it best to say the right things. Of course he wasn’t likely to die any time soon, but he had no illusions that he was older then most people he dealt with.

He pondered at what the answer for this might be, and he stood up from the desk. He was nearly six feet when he stood, and he began to move over towards the bar. His overcoat draped down nearly to his knees. He reached the bar, and pulled a bottle off the top of the chillers, and began to pour himself a glass, waiting for the answer.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus felt more and more that this conversation was turning into an interview. Part of that thrilled him, hopeful that his next job might one he could prepare for with a better outcome in mind. Part of it worried him. How much of his 'hand' had Longstreet already read?

Would the man even give him a choice?

Marcus inhaled and exhaled as Longstreet almost seemed to ask outright. "If I had to put a word on it... What I need..." he almost laughed. "What I need is a ship of my own..." It felt good to say that, and a knot in his gut loosened. "But a heading and a purpose... those'd be right shiny, if you know where I'd could find em."

His tone indicated that the Marcus had a fair idea where Longstreet was heading with the conversation. But he wouldn't push to far.... but maybe he'd overstepped with a want for a ship.

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet filled his glass up, it was only half, and it was a small glass as well while he listened to the answer. He walked slowly back over to his seat behind the large desk as it continued. He hadn’t quite expected something so heavy as a call for a vessel. The only people that made such steep things that he was aware of were Alliance officers, but that was just because they were used to having everything given to them right away. Either way, his questions were answered. ”Those are rather weighted things you seem to be looking for.” Longstreet said retaking his seat. He hadn’t had a very large need for anything, not for many years. He set the glass down on the desk, but did not take a drink from it. The liquid inside was a dark brown and it shook with a tremor from having been placed down.

He put his arms on the table once more. ”However, such goals aren’t so far out of reach as it may be perceived.” Longstreet didn’t tend to say anymore then he had to, but he continued. ”The galaxy is vast place, with a great number of people trying to make their way in it.” He moved the glass a bit to his right. ”And for my own part I have achieved much. But even here there are things that I cannot do myself. For this I will put people in my employ. Some on the books, some off.” He was elaborating vaguely on the inner workings of his what his enterprise was, but he wasn’t hardly scratching the surface yet.

Longstreet lifted up the glass with his left hand. ”I need people, people who can help me achieve certain aims. And as these aims are achieved, I don’t forget about those that helped me achieve them.” Longstreet leaned back and moved his hands apart. ”Cóng shàngmiàn de zhùfú liú you might say.” He brought his hands back together. He couldn’t end it there, so he continued once more. ”I am, at this moment, looking for such a set of individuals that might be able to lend a hand in keeping things working as best as they can.” He raised the glass up higher as though he was about to drink. ”Would you, and your associates be interested in such employment?” He asked finally bringing the glass to his mouth afterwards and taking a short sip.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus's eyes followed Longstreet as he rose and moved to fill his glass. When the man replied to his desire with a word like 'weighted' he guessed at he meant the labor and responsibility of those things. "Things with weight have a meaning to them. Gives a reason to pursue, to persevere." He remembered the speeches made at the start of the war. Something in them had rung true to Marcus, this conversation was bringing those memories back.

Longstreet's words continued, and as he continued Marcus felt the faint hint of a smile itch at his lips. But he kept it in check. As he spoke of his 'own part', Marcus began to wonder what this 'former' Independent was up to. But he'd keep his eyes to what was put in front of him; for now.

Speaking of a set, Marcus cast a look around to those behind and beside him. The smile revealed itself, but only minutely, as he looked at the group.

"Any objections, gentleman? Ladies?" he asked his group. His Crew.

<Tag, anyone who walked off the Hardtack With Marcus>

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


This was it, Rina realized.  She had to decide which way she’d go: stay with Marcus and deal with whatever jobs he took or take her leave now and try to find Virgil and rejoin Minerva’s crew.  

She cut a look at Longstreet, trying to get his measure.  What he’d described sounded like off-books hire, which meant the jobs would be under the table, which meant illegal.  Which meant black market or clandestine ops.  His rank—if it were true—would have been high enough during the war to be involved with black bag jobs.  Was that what he had in mind?  Just how much of an underground Browncoat was Longstreet?  Looking at the trappings of his office, Rina couldn’t detect how closely he’d maintained his ties to the Independent community.  Was he genuinely a civilian looking to hire them for a job that had nothing to do with the rancorous politics between Fed and Browncoat? Or was he asking Marcus to get involved in it up to his neck—all their necks, to be exact.  Could she risk it and say yes? Or should she say no and having witnessed what she’d had so far, hope they’d let her walk out of here alive?

And what about Virgil Galton and Minerva?  By rights, Virgil still held first claim to her services, services in a field she dearly wanted to get back into. Furthermore, she was still part of his crew and as such she had to tell him she was still alive.  However, she was alive only because Marcus had been the right man in the right place at the right time: she’d be dead if it hadn’t been for him.  Therefore, she owed Marcus and she took her debts seriously.

Morality versus Expediency. Desire versus Necessity. Practicality versus Idealism.  They all fought for supremacy and Rina shut her eyes and squashed everything down inside until it was quiet enough for her to think again. Longstreet and Marcus offered work.  Work earned money. With money she had options, more than she had at the moment.  She also owed Marcus a debt she had to repay.  Without money or the options it gave her, she would not be able to find her way back to Minerva but without paying off her debt, she would not be able to live with her conscience.  

There was one question she needed answered before she could go further, even though Rina hated to ask it.  It would make her a possible target of suspicion but she had to know.  She opened her eyes and met Longstreet’s gaze squarely for the first time.

“Who would I be working for, sir?  O’Terra?  Or you?”

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet shifted his eyes to the people before him when it was put up. He had presumed that they were a grouping of mercenaries anyway. Not many other people would group together to go after such a tough thing like the crew of the Hardtack. These people didn’t quite fit into the same category. But they did gun work obviously, as they couldn’t have done what they did without it. He set the glass down on the desk. ”It’s a matter of prospective I suppose.” He said thinking about the question. ”I just handed the money for the bounty of Burts to Mr. O’Terra” He said motioning towards him. ”So I suppose that would mean you be working for him I believe.” He looked at the person that had asked the question. He noticed that she was missing an arm. He’d seen it when they walked in, but he’d thought she just had her arm back. ”May I ask what happened to your arm?” He asked seeing it. He wasn’t put off by it, but he was curious if she might sustained the injury during the killing of Burts.

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


It was on the tip of her tongue to say something flippant—I cut myself shaving—but she bit it back. It was a respectful enough question and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last time she’d have to face it. So far, Longstreet seemed to be on the up and up: he'd answered her question honestly enough and she answered in kind.

“Reaver weapon on Greenleaf.” The memory of it made her terse. “Didn’t duck fast enough. Took them out though.”  Rina left it at that, refusing to beg for special consideration or pity, or even the appearance of doing so.  She nodded gravely at Longstreet and looked Marcus’s way.  “As for the rest of it, I’m in.”

[Bishop Morse]

Longstreet


Longstreet eyebrows went up when he heard that it was Reavers that had done it, and that it happened on Greenleaf no less. They were far enough away in Kalidasa that the information on an event like that was scarce. Even still Longstreet wasn’t stupid. A city on Greenleaf turning to insurrection, it wasn’t likely. What was even less likely was that there was something left on Shadow. It wasn’t exactly Independent territory after they turned it into a dead rock. And the sort of weapons used on the planet weren’t the sort that “don’t detonate”. He hadn’t known it was Reavers, but it didn’t particularly surprise him. 

”I’m sorry to hear it.” He said in regards to her not being able to get out of the way in time. When she nodded in agreement to what was going on, Longstreet thought about what he could do to help them. ”I can see what I can do about getting you a replacement if you’d like.” He said making an offer of assistance. He didn’t exactly have a prosthetic physician on call, but he knew he could get a hold of one easy enough.