|
Iziz
Feb 26, 2013 17:04:52 GMT -8
Post by Shaman Odin Alfodr on Feb 26, 2013 17:04:52 GMT -8
*Iziz was the capital city of the planet Onderon. It had the largest spaceport in the system.*
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 22, 2013 3:02:52 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2013 3:02:52 GMT -8
Where there are spaceports, there are cantinas. And where there are cantinas, there are dives so shitty that even the various criminal gangs that inevitably inhabit such districts avoid them. This was the lowest of the low, a dingy, dirty bar that specializes in rotgut so foul that paint thinner is considered a few steps up. Most of the patrons are out of work spacers or mercs or street bums that managed to scrounge up enough credits for a full frontal assault on their livers. The booze, however foul, is cheap and plentiful. The smoke of a dozen different recreational narcotics, all of the lowest quality, pollutes the already toxic atmosphere. Everyone has the same glazed, hopeless look common to those that have given up on clawing their way back up to rock bottom. Even the dancers on what we'll jokingly call the stage are barely there; they clearly would have been prostitutes if they hadn't been too old and too used up to turn tricks. They gyrate lazily, too stoned to make more than a cursory attempt to keep to the beat of the tinny music that floats through the room.
The sole exception is the mountain of a man sitting at the bar, halfway through his fourth bottle of nasty and still going. His cheerful smile stands in stark contrast to the blank stares and scowls of the other occupants. His good cheer seems to be infectious, in the same way that ebola is infectious: best to kill it before it spreads. A couple of the larger drunks are clearly gearing up to teach the new guy a lesson.
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 22, 2013 9:18:28 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 22, 2013 9:18:28 GMT -8
Blending in seamlessly with the flotsam of humanity, swearing, stinking, drinking, Chloro watched the all-too-happy someone from across the tavern. She gritted her teeth, partly from the sailor trying to feel her up and partly that he had sat their obliviously to her one-eyed glare for the past few hours. She seriously beginning to have her doubts. Snap, crackle, pop, the sailor was sent on his way while Chloro let herself wait, inertly, her finger on the detonator. Patience was her virtue and there would be hell to pay if she had wasted it in this hairy hole of humanity.
But she had to know.
The opportunity arrived - the optimist was about to have his smile beaten into the back of his head. Chloro thumbed her rifle under her tatty drunkard's coat because someone was going to be aerated, either for wasting her time or to blow a little steam off. And more importantly -
She would know.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 22, 2013 9:54:24 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2013 9:54:24 GMT -8
Two of the braver, or maybe more intoxicated, sailors approached the big man at the bar. They were a study in contrasts. The first was also rather large, though his mass seemed to mainly consist of layer upon layer of fat over what had once been an impressive muscular build. The second was short and skinny, with a rat-like face and beady little eyes that never seemed to sit still. He was clearly the brains of the operation, though only by virtue of having three brains cells functioning as opposed to his buddy's 1.2.
"Hey pal, I think it's time you leave," he said in a high, reedy voice that he clearly thought to be menacing. His partner simply growled. Articulation was for lesser, punier beings.
The man at the bar turned around and eyed the two blearily.
"Now why would I want to do that? C'mon guys, have a drink."
Well now that was clearly the wrong answer. The big man drew a suitably oversized blaster pistol from somewhere south of his massive gut and put two rounds into the stranger's back. The stink of burning cloth and flesh intermingled with the stench of stale sweat and cheap booze. Surprisingly though, the man at the bar didn't fall. Hell, he didn't even put down his drink.
"Now that was just rude," he said, all traces of drunken slurring gone. He glanced at the fat man with the blaster. That was it. Didn't draw a weapon, didn't gesture, just glanced. He dropped to the ground like a puppet that had its strings severed. The coroner would later describe his insides as "mush."
The little man had sense enough to try to run, but found it incredibly difficult, as his feet stayed firmly planted in place. The same can't be said for everything above the ankles, as they were separated cleanly, as if sliced by in invisible blade.
"You shoulda taken me up on that drink."
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 24, 2013 8:13:04 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 24, 2013 8:13:04 GMT -8
The little man would have replied to Eralam, if a boot hadn't carelessly stepped on his throat. They weren't alone, but their friends had decided to cut their loses when they saw the gleaming steel assault rifle pointed at them. There was the distinctive sound - the only sound like it in the universe - as the bolt of the ??????? ??????????? clicked into place. And dared them to come closer.
Maybe later.
The owner of the said boots and AK waited until they had left before she parked herself next to Eralam, cleared her cigarette from her mouth before asking:
Who the bloody hell do you think you are?
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 24, 2013 9:11:36 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 24, 2013 9:11:36 GMT -8
It takes a second for the words to register in the man's head. The stimulants released into his bloodstream to counteract the alcohol are quite potent, but it takes several moments for the disorientation to pass. It's like getting woken suddenly from a very deep sleep, if waking up also put the body through all the misery of a hangover within a few short seconds. For a moment, the man would have liked nothing more than to put the barrel of the AK underneath his chin and spray the wall with his agonized brains. His mouth, however, was running on instinct, the same sort of instinct that had been getting men in trouble with women for untold eons.
"I think I'm the guy buying drinks. What's your poison?"
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 24, 2013 21:13:16 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 24, 2013 21:13:16 GMT -8
A nonplussed Chloro gave him a sidelong look from her good eye, resting her precious mechanical hands on the bar. The proto-Eralam gave the right signals, had the right moves but there was nothing for certain. She had bridled her more chaotic tendencies with a patentice born of fury. Eventually, everyone stepped on a landmine. Eventually, they'll finger the boobytrap. Then she would explode and people would die. The person of Chloro was one convoluted series of detonators, explosives, traps and wire.
If not so before, now more than ever. Something had happened to her. She had never feared pain or death, people, armies, Jedi or Sith. Now, though, there was a tautness to her, a scared hunch, a weariness under her eyes. And she was angry. This bomber girl had fought for a bizzarre variety of causes against a different enemies, but she was fighting a losing war that she couldn't run from.
I'm sorted.
She shrugged at Eralam, unscrewing her flask of mouthwash, rinsing and swallowing. The soothing minty freshness brought a squeaky cleanness to her pearly whites that the bar lacked. Eralam smelt like he could some of it himself, but she wasn't in the sharing business.
Actually, someone asked me to bring you this...
Chloro put a nasty-looking cup of ramen noodles on the bar. The writing was a little worn, as if held by someone for too long, but it was still unopened. Chives and spinach flavour - but that was a lie. It was all chemicals. Interestingly, it was some of the stuff that she had used in a pinch to escape holding cells. Made in Corellia, of all places. It had come a long way to be unlovingly dumped at a random, sweaty bar.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 24, 2013 21:29:01 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 24, 2013 21:29:01 GMT -8
Ramen. Corellia. The bar flickers in and out for a moment, as if reality is struggling to assert itself against something far more sinister. The man closes his eyes for a moment, clearly trying to bring himself under control. When they open again, any hint of joviality is gone. Recognition, fury, fear, weariness, and a nearly all-consuming desire to destroy flit across his face, but soon it was the practiced poker face that only a droid could hope to match.
"Where the hell did you get that?"
If Chloro was a minefield, the man was a nuke hooked up to a deadman's switch. The instant the last of his self control died, things would get ugly with a quickness.
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 24, 2013 21:53:55 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 24, 2013 21:53:55 GMT -8
That didn't end so well did it, god?
This was better. Rather have the other afraid and angry. That was her real weapon, to spread the mayhem and chaos that was so dear to her. To help everyone else become a part of the anger and fear she felt. Besides, she liked how his voice didn't match his face, the almost machine-like control that he had over his body breaking under the strain of a few well placed jibes. It was like being back at the table and getting to work intimately with every soft tissue she could find.
Find it? I was the one who gave it to you. But you're not a big eater, are you, Eralam-dono?
Chloro faced him, grinning, daring him to explode.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 24, 2013 22:19:13 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 24, 2013 22:19:13 GMT -8
"Do not use that name in public. I go by Dresden in these parts."
"Dresden's" voice was icy calm. It carried nothing of the barely suppressed malice that radiated off the man like heat on a cold day.
"You, my dear, are supposed to be dead. But then again, so am I."
The bartender wisely sets another bottle on the stained wood of the bar. This isn't the swill he'd been feeding his most dangerous customer all evening, this was high-grade bourbon. Clearly, a peace offering. Little did anyone in the city know, but the barkeep was a washout from the Jedi Order, kicked out in his youth as a padawan for substance abuse issues. The man was more perceptive than most, and knew just how close his livelihood, and indeed his life, were to annihilation.
Dresden, aka Eralam, aka the goddamn Robot Space Ninja, nodded gratefully, drained the last of the rotgut from the glass, and refilled it with the good stuff. Color returned to his face, the urge to rip and tear and destroy receded.
"You mind telling me just what in the hell is going on here?"
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 25, 2013 8:48:00 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 25, 2013 8:48:00 GMT -8
It was a peculiar inversion of their previous introduction. Eralam seemed to have been defused once they had gotten over that particular hurdle, but it didn't stop Chloro from secretly revelling in Eralam's seeming fall from grace. Chloro could see it, the wear and tear, bags under his eyes, the stink of sweat and grime of having real hair. A liver, a stomach, a real, beating heart that his life hinged on. Maybe he would discover the special magic appeal of having his feet on the ground. Would he discover the liberation of having nothing left to lose?
She got you, didn't she?
Chloro said matter-of-factly, ignoring his question for now. He would be able to put the picture together, just as she had and then he would know why she had gone on a manhunt for him.
I doubted they would be able to fool you, but I was wrong. Chloro paused, the bitter humiliation of her failure rising to her throat. But at least she had a scapegoat. Did you really think that monster was me? That stupid, airheaded, pyromaniac - it stole my face and my memories. And did you believe her?
Chloro didn't shout the last. She had clearly done that already, many, many times and now she delivered the flat, over-rehearsed lines to Eralam, asking him to lie to her, to tell her that Kuroro didn't effortlessly step into her persona like a pair of flip-flops and actually used her face to buy her way into Eralam's trust.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 25, 2013 12:20:03 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2013 12:20:03 GMT -8
"A man walks up to you, someone that you have known, and known well. Someone that knows things only he could know, responds in ways that only he would respond. Sure, something seems off, but it's clear that the core elements are right, that there has been massive mental trauma."
Eralam paused to take a sip from his drink. The fiery liquor calms his frazzled nerves.
"Everything points to that man being the one you've known. Right down to the cellular level. Would you believe him to be a fake, write him off as a lost cause?"
The ex-Shard's tone betrayed nothing of the havoc that had been so close to being unleashed mere moments before. It was dull, monotone, almost lifeless.
"Or do you begin to dig, trying to find the root of the problem? Yeah, she got me. Or something like that. The last few moments are still a kinda hazy. But hell, for all I know, you're the fake. You look convincing enough, but then again, so did she."
He turned to look her dead in the eye.
"You vanished. Without a trace. Not so much as a scrap of DNA or an impression in the Force. What the hell was I supposed to do? The guys I sent you after were slavers, scum of the worst sort. They could have easily captured you and sold you to some Sith maniac with a taste for alchemy. Wouldn't be the first time I saw an operative meet that fate. So forgive me for trying to dig a bit. Or don't. Blow my brains out all over this fucking pathetic excuse for a bar. See if I give a good goddamn. I'll be dead in a year anyway."
|
|
The Major
Member
Also known as Sailor Titan
Posts: 5,959
Affiliation: Fallanassi
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 25, 2013 17:26:26 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jun 25, 2013 17:26:26 GMT -8
"Yeah, well, people will say that."
The door to the cantina swings open with enough force to send it smacking into the wall it pivoted upon, and from this irrelevant commotion draws two figures clad in slate gray. As they march tentatively into the bar the foul stink of bad cigars clears away in onerous clouds, revealing both to be wearing matching battle dress uniforms, coloured in a two tone camouflage pattern that would have been effective if they both decided to hide in a noir film. They both walk hunched over, obviously fatigued, looking as if one good shove would topple them into the abyss.
One of the two was a smaller man, sweating, toting a kilometer long stare from under the shadow of a Stahlhelm sporting a plethora of scratches and chips caused by what appeared to be shrapnel. Lucky guess? No, the piece of metal jutting from the helmet's side was probably great proof of what the owner went through. His left arm is in a crimson stained sling. That didn't stop him from carrying what looked like a grimy Maschinenpistole 40 held in a webbing so that the submachine gun could fall comfortably down his front, and even be raised and hip fired with a wobbly right arm.
The other was a tall woman wearing a tilted Feldmütze at a stylish angle, if such was possible with military garb. A bigger assault rifle, a highly improved variant of the Sturmgewehr 44 was slung loosely over her back. She had magnificent, healthy hair -long and thick, shimmering copper, bronze, and chestnut depending on the how the light hit it -but of course, it was spun into two ridiculously lengthened braids that invoked the memories of a child running through Hürtgenwald in the winter. This person would have been impeccable in every way, if there weren't splatters of blood sprinkled in her hair, and on her tunic, and even on the rifle bouncing hither and tither. And while she stepped, another necklace was linked about her sloppily hanging dogtags: a steel, stubby ended "X" dangling haphazardly down her front like a pendant.
His sown nameplate read as K. Vonnegut, hers as M. Mccan. And as they stepped up to the bar, the man bumps absentmindedly into Chloro upon her right side. Nothing major, just barely touching her elbow. Yet, it still managed to scare the living daylights out of him, causing him to step back on his heel and raise his good arm in a sign of both protest and apology.
"Ah! Ah-ah-AhI'm sorry!"
He truly meant it too, but that was a topic for another day, because the woman pulls him by the shoulder in order that he faces her. Mccan barks out what apparently are words of encouragement. Yup, and you could tell -she spoke in what was undeniably an Alderaanian accent. Well, at least as a person who was raised in the poorer part of the Crevasse City.
"Shut'et. Tha' kind of fink 'appens an' no one goes sixes an' sevens o'er't. Yue relax now. Nofink a drink can'nit 'andle." Mccan raises her hand to the nearest barkeep, sticks up a thumb, an index finger, a middle finger, and orders. "Three pints of'th black stuff, Senator."
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 25, 2013 19:16:35 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 25, 2013 19:16:35 GMT -8
Chloro listened and smirked. Welcome to the locker. And before the end, they would both be a whole lot lower too. Chloro didn't trust Eralam as far as she could throw him. She never had. Their first meeting was a painful lesson just how easily he could unravel her and ever since then, she always had kept her cards close to her chest. That Sithspawn had probably used that trick to hide her real purpose. If nothing, Eralam had learnt a valuable lesson in anti-trust. Maybe even how to accomodate that factor into a plan.
"I didn't have much choice about disappearing." Abductors were not like travel agents, who at least had the dignity of letting you tell your next of kin where you could be found. "But that's my problem. And your problem doesn't sound like much fun either. But I at least want revenge..."
Nudge. Chloro shifted slightly to have AK nudge back, but the the furious apologies placated her and all Mr Vonnegut got was a dirty look for his repentance. Chloro narrowed her eye as she recognised the uniforms and the strange pendant on Mccan. Turning back, she twined a length of razorwire around her fingers and wove it between her teeth, sharpening the edge.
"And we'll start with those two..." She said, whipping the wire from her teeth, with the same scraping sound that you get from sharpening a knife. She'd wait for them to get their drinks...
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 25, 2013 21:30:00 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2013 21:30:00 GMT -8
"We? Got a mouse in your pocket or something?"
Eralam topped off his drink, and pulled out a meerschaum pipe identical to the one destroyed with his original body. The tobacco, instead of being the light honey-colored blend from those days, was so dark it was almost black. It smelled richly, almost cloyingly, of peat and leather and expensive whiskey as he packed it into the bowl. The smoke that came forth as the wooden match did its work was strong enough to overpower everything in its reach. The deathsticks and spice and lesser tobaccos never stood a chance.
"You do whatever the hell you want. I already told you, I'll be dead within a year. Body can't handle the strain of the power. So fuck you and your crusades. I'm gonna enjoy my smoke and drink and live out my last year in peace. I've done enough for and to this galaxy. Let someone else pick up the slack for once."
|
|
The Major
Member
Also known as Sailor Titan
Posts: 5,959
Affiliation: Fallanassi
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 26, 2013 5:27:22 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jun 26, 2013 5:27:22 GMT -8
Holy crap, about five spider senses were tingling but none of those warning graces belonged to any person standing at the bar.
Lieutenant Mccan grabs Vonnegut by the epaulets of his tunic and pulls him a step or two away from the psycho babble. She has one of those typical steely gazes that officers like to give their charges when a situation was touching something akin to being shit out of luck.
"Private, go an' clean yueself up. Yue look like 'ammered shite."
"B-but, we should report. Everyone is fu-fu-fuc... ahh... dead!"
"Report? Hehh... All this time an' yue don't get'et? Dinnae see 't after what we 've seen? This was a suicide run. We weren't meant to escape, yue understand? We were suppose to die with thon unit, die fighting an' crying, like th' maggots we 've truly become. We report, she'll be told, an' what due yue fink will 'appen? A promotion? Reinforcement? Medals? Paid vacation? Non. We're dinner. Yue understand. They wanted us to be like dinner. Wha' due yue due with thon leftovers, Private? Yue toss 'em or mix 'em with th' next course."
"N-no. We... Ugh. She'll know, Ma'am. She'll know and then we'll have it worse. I don't want to be part of some experiment."
""'ead out of yon arse, Schut'zil. We're already part of one. We're lost. We're dug graves. But dinnae panic. I'm Einsatzkommando. We've been around. We're old wolves. We've been put thru this shite many times. Yue think we just fight in forlorn hopes like the fall of All'ge'mine and Reecee because we've a death wish? Really, it's as much of a mind game as it stands. Adapt, displace, shift axis, outta box, an' around th' corner. I'm 'ere cause I outthought an' outplayed th' odds. Trust no one, Rook'. Think. Yue may be a dug grave, but at least 've sense enough to pick when yue lay in it. "
"I'm not a revolution behind a gun, Ma'am. I'm not a Reichstag puppet content with goose stepping into the abyss. I don't want to kill people that don't speak the right language, or have the right genes. If it were possible then I'd have everyone loving each other for what they were, and sharing a drink, smoke, and woes. I don't ever want to see the blue eyes again. I don't want to feel the ice. I'm only here because my home, my homeworld, burned to a cinder when you guys landed. The only choices were stay and choke, or sign up. But I don't care anymore. I can't do this anymore."
"There's th' front door, Lad. Go as thon please. I'm not Gestapo. I won't stop yue."
"Wha-WHAT? Really? I can go? Go and never come back?"
". . .Jawohl. . ."
"Then I'm going. I'm sorry, but I'm going."
"Yue are a great fighter. Lemme get half of your tag, so I can remember yue. If I report, I'll say yue were eaten by th' demon. Doubt anyone will ask 'er her view on't. Good-bye, Kurt. Get far away from 'ere. Go live an' do what makes yue happy. Ditch tha' uniform with haste too; it's not as unknown as yue fink. . . an'. . ."
Kurt produces his dog tags and gives her one of the two little glittering pieces. You could see it on his face, a touch of happiness, true happiness. Mccan gives the deserter a hug, perhaps overcome with a little emotion over how intense survival had been just a few hours ago. One of her hands dips into his pocket without his noticing, since he was so shocked that a kommando, a kommando officer, would show such affection. The woman pats Kurt on the shoulder and gives him a push towards the door. Uneasy at first, he begins to march on, smiling as the sunlight outside struck his face. He mantles a parked speeder, turns the engine over, and cruises off.
Meanwhile, back in the cantina.
Left-tenant Mccan grabs her pint and proceeds to tilt the whole thing down in one swig. It's refreshing as can be, and she doesn't mind letting everyone know by passing out an intense sigh of relief. It was true: beer was best when you thought you were dead. She smacks the empty glass face down on the counter, and pulls out a little device. It looked a bit like a pen, except nobody used pens anymore -for like what was roughly, say, a hundred thousand years.
". . . yue're not worthy of wearing et, yue piece of shit defeatist. Good bye, Rat."
She grins, and pushes on a button on the pen.
Somewhere in the city a man feeling hope as the wind stung his tear stained face closes his eyes on an open stretch of road. It's the first time he felt hope in years, since before the madness marched upon the parks and squares he shared with lovers and friends, when the musicians played on the chilly evenings and bluejays would eat out your hand if you laid down a trail of bread. Something in his pocket beeps three times. He looks. And just before the explosion of a thermal detonator vaporizes most of the bike and his body, his face splits with the stupidest expression of confusion imaginable.
Moments later, his bent and badly seared helmet rolls into a ditch, steaming.
Mccan turns to the one smoking rich pipe weed and the other flossing teeth with what was obviously a garrote. What stunning examples of death personified. Even looking at them reminded her of deep horns thundering while violins screeched louder and louder, ever downward in chord progression. She pushes the two pints toward them.
"For th' lovely partners for lookin' like yon come out from Nevsky's dying brain. Drink 'em or fuck thonselves with 'em for all I care. Cheers to yue anyway."
The woman then walks away, pushing into some of the other people standing around, making her way into the nearest bathroom stall.
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 26, 2013 7:02:02 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 26, 2013 7:02:02 GMT -8
Chuckling at his flippant dismissal, Chloro could see him getting into the swing of things. His bleeding heart antic was a priceless jewel in the museum of dispair. Maybe he needed a little more time to look around. Most people simply never left, choosing to wallow in their hopelessness until their end. But there were some that were inspired by it, who took those powerful feelings and shook the world and those who were afraid of feeling it themselves. Chloro was never supposed to live past the age of eight. She wasn't supposed survive her last six months and yet, she was here, a little less human, a little harder, and ready for more. She couldn't afford to give up or screw up. She'd die, without a prayer. But Eralam was special. He died. She knew that. She had seen the new sun that burnt brightly in a tiny corner of the galaxy. And yet, here he was, a human no less. They hadn't lied about that. She'd love to be able to be at his side again. They would be able to solve at least one injustice that had been done to both of them - being denied the right to die in peace.
I hope you get well soon.
Chloro didn't have enough sympathy for herself, let alone another. A pint bumped her elbow and she gave the sender a broad smile in return, tipping her head graciously to the toast and raising the glass in approval to her assessment of them - until Mccan turned her back and walked away. Chloro replaced the drink carefully on the bar, letting the moisture gather on the outside, untouched. The convivial mask dropped and Chloro got up go to work.
Those soldiers are here to take something nasty for a walk or by the looks of things, they already did. I'm close to figuring them out, but they're closing in on me. And you. I doubt if you'll get through the next week. I wont. But unlike you, I don't give a damn about it. For the first time, I've got a mind of my own and I'm going to use it to go on a roaring rampage of redemption.
That was her parting comment to Eralam as she stubbed out her cigarette in the pint and wrapped the razorwire around her right hand. Following the Lieutenant into the stalls, she headed for the washbasins while looking around for the other woman...
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Iziz
Jun 26, 2013 7:26:19 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jun 26, 2013 7:26:19 GMT -8
"Have fun with that," Eralam said dryly. "I reckon I should spend the next week trying to figure out how my pecker works, then. No use dying a virgin."
He turned back to his drink, but could easily imagine the near universal female eye-roll such statements always brought on. She was dead wrong if she thought he gave a damn, about her or the soldiers or anyone else. He saw the female slip the detonator into the craven's pocket. The former Shard figured the fellow had just gotten out of a slaughterhouse of the fifth worse kind, and a clean death was probably preferable to the life he would have lived if she hadn't.
Still, he was mildly curious as to why the ever so cheerful Chloro was following the tall broad off to the latrine. He doubted it was for the sake of female companionship. Maybe he could angle free drinks from the bartender if he kept the bloodshed to a minimum. The bitter old warrior waited a tic before walking off in the general direction of the bathrooms.
"Gotta piss anyway. Stupid kidneys..."
|
|
The Major
Member
Also known as Sailor Titan
Posts: 5,959
Affiliation: Fallanassi
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 26, 2013 7:38:10 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jun 26, 2013 7:38:10 GMT -8
And what would the smiling little minx toting an AK find while within the women's restroom? It was a large one, clean, with multiple stalls. On the far wall from the door just entered stood the El-tee. Margot leaned against the wall casually, with a jackboot against wall -kind of dancing though also not at all. The STG 44 was unslung and held in a devil-may-care manner in the right hand, while her left hand flipped a dog tag, Kurt's dogtag, like it was a quarter being played with by a Vegas gangster. In her mouth was a cigarillo rolled in black paper. Those dull blue eyes gazed intently at different angles on Chloro, taking in a hundred details in the space of a millisecond.
The details make her mouth curl into a lopsided grin. Exhale. Cloud of smoke. And then she speaks.
"So I take't from th' wire in yuer 'and an' the look in yuer eye tha' thon are 'ere to tell me to fuck off to th' grave. Not takin' a drink offered is aboot all th' insult yue needed where I grown. We know of yue, Agent. Although some groups would be surprised to discover yue done got thonself free. 'ands played, eh? Frustration unreleased is a killer, I know. So let's say yue come an' choke th' blood out me eyes. Whoop-de-doo. But I 've a better enemy for yue to fight. A better challenge to really let yue vent all tha' rage. Better yet; I know of sumfink worth dying against. What do yue say, Agent? 'ow about we meet a true diva? "
|
|
Chloro
Member
Sparkle and glitter, gleam, glow - SHINE!
Posts: 1,083
Affiliation: Brushing, Flossing, Rinsing
Traffic Light: Blue
|
Iziz
Jun 26, 2013 22:10:28 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jun 26, 2013 22:10:28 GMT -8
It was a little late to realise that the stage was set against her. Instead of finding a victim, helplessly exposed for a brief and brutal torture session, she found a dragon waiting to snuff her out. Under these circumstances, Chloro did the logical thing - played her role as another visitor to the bathroom. She washed her hands. Chloro made sure to keep her in sight of her good eye and made a new study of the predator. Whose all too relaxed pose was a front, like a musician about to perform - shoulder drooped but eyes intently focused. The blood-flecked uniform was a good enough indication that she had been busy and she probably hadn't been afraid to get dirty. She was had been waiting for her to come. Chloro needed to stall and give herself space to manoever..."So I take't from th' wire in yuer 'and an' the look in yuer eye tha' thon are 'ere to tell me to fuck off to th' grave. Not takin' a drink offered is aboot all th' insult yue needed where I grown. We know of yue, Agent. Although some groups would be surprised to discover yue done got thonself free. 'ands played, eh? Frustration unreleased is a killer, I know. So let's say yue come an' choke th' blood out me eyes. Whoop-de-doo. But I 've a better enemy for yue to fight. A better challenge to really let yue vent all tha' rage. Better yet; I know of sumfink worth dying against. What do yue say, Agent? 'ow about we meet a true diva? " Chloro left the tap running, walking up to the Lieutenant as she spoke, hands in the open and still dripping wet. She didn't like being revealed. But when people told you your story, and you're still breathing, the chances were that they wanted you in. And Chloro was interested, very interested. She didn't know all the details, but she knew enough to know that this was the right direction. She tongued her teeth for a moment, pretending to deliberate whether or not she still wanted dry her hands on Lieutenant Mccan's corpse but then smacked her lips, a decision made."You've got yourself no truer friend, Lieutenant Mccan." She gave a broad and genuine smile to the other woman, a paragon of dental perfection, and clapped a hand on her shoulder, not particularly caring that her STG44 was pointed at her gut at this point in time. They were friends, after all. "I'd love to meet the diva."
|
|