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rush99999There were downsides to going freelance as a mercenary. Staying in the Navy would have meant promotions and paperwork, beureacracy and boring shit like that, but at least it would have been something to do. When she was between jobs out here in the Marches, she could find herself sitting in a bar or whatever the local merc hangout was and she could be there for days on end.
Pretty sure this is still better than paperwork, at the end of the day. Amy laid down a card on the table in front of her, "And I call," she said to the four others - all mercs, like her - who were gambling with her. This game wasn't much of a challenge, but there was no one here who wanted to play any of the more interesting games of skill that existed out here in the Marches. Her favorite was a strange sort of chess derivative that used holographic pieces and an overcomplicated board. But there just weren't a lot of people into it. So she was stuck playing with cards instead.
Smirking, Amy laid her cards down on the table and watched the sour faces on the other players when they saw that she'd won the hand. Luck had given her the best hand, but it had been skill that had seen her get everyone to bet so much. Across the table from her, a scarred woman, maybe a few years younger than Amy, all but growled in anger at her loss... and her dwindling pile of money in a half-dozen currencies.
Amy flagged down one of the harried waitresses, "Perhaps a round for the table?" She handed the waitress a few coins, and the prospect of free drinks seemed to mollify the other woman for a moment.
"You keep winning, Novarian, and people are going to think you're cheating," the scarred woman added, even as she seemed to settle down. "Free drinks don't put the money back in my pocket."
"No, no they don't. Might actually hurt," Amy agreed, "But if you think I'm cheating, you really need to prove it. Or we could take this outside." She patted her sidearm at her waist in what had to be a cliched gesture, but it got the point across.
The merc considered it for a long moment, then muttered to herself angrily, then, "Fucking deal," she told one of the other players, as Amy readied herself for another round.
The sound of the doors opening and someone new coming into the bar drew her attention for only a moment - a slightly harried looking woman. Not a merc - didn't have the bearings for it. Looking to hire, then.
There were informal rules about how these bars worked - mercs didn't approach the would-be clients. Bartenders kept track of the mercs looking for work in their establishment... assuming the would be client knew a thing, they'd talk to the bartender first, pay them a small cash 'gift' and get pointed to the mercs that could do their job.
In the meantime.
"I match your raise, and raise you two Barsholian Dinars," Amy said, as she turned her eyes back to the game, sliding two large, solid platinum coins from the other end of known space across the table.
Pretty sure this is still better than paperwork, at the end of the day. Amy laid down a card on the table in front of her, "And I call," she said to the four others - all mercs, like her - who were gambling with her. This game wasn't much of a challenge, but there was no one here who wanted to play any of the more interesting games of skill that existed out here in the Marches. Her favorite was a strange sort of chess derivative that used holographic pieces and an overcomplicated board. But there just weren't a lot of people into it. So she was stuck playing with cards instead.
Smirking, Amy laid her cards down on the table and watched the sour faces on the other players when they saw that she'd won the hand. Luck had given her the best hand, but it had been skill that had seen her get everyone to bet so much. Across the table from her, a scarred woman, maybe a few years younger than Amy, all but growled in anger at her loss... and her dwindling pile of money in a half-dozen currencies.
Amy flagged down one of the harried waitresses, "Perhaps a round for the table?" She handed the waitress a few coins, and the prospect of free drinks seemed to mollify the other woman for a moment.
"You keep winning, Novarian, and people are going to think you're cheating," the scarred woman added, even as she seemed to settle down. "Free drinks don't put the money back in my pocket."
"No, no they don't. Might actually hurt," Amy agreed, "But if you think I'm cheating, you really need to prove it. Or we could take this outside." She patted her sidearm at her waist in what had to be a cliched gesture, but it got the point across.
The merc considered it for a long moment, then muttered to herself angrily, then, "Fucking deal," she told one of the other players, as Amy readied herself for another round.
The sound of the doors opening and someone new coming into the bar drew her attention for only a moment - a slightly harried looking woman. Not a merc - didn't have the bearings for it. Looking to hire, then.
There were informal rules about how these bars worked - mercs didn't approach the would-be clients. Bartenders kept track of the mercs looking for work in their establishment... assuming the would be client knew a thing, they'd talk to the bartender first, pay them a small cash 'gift' and get pointed to the mercs that could do their job.
In the meantime.
"I match your raise, and raise you two Barsholian Dinars," Amy said, as she turned her eyes back to the game, sliding two large, solid platinum coins from the other end of known space across the table.