Avatar of Kylia Quilor

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5 yrs ago
Current Goblin King of the Darkstorm Galaxy rides on the wings of Doom - grant me the power to fight my foes and defeat the Lords of the Moon!
5 yrs ago
This Just In! The regulation size of Breadboxes has been decreased by law! A Breadbox is now, in fact, Bigger, than a Breadbox!
2 likes
5 yrs ago
This Just In! The Bee's Knees Are The Cat's Pyjammas. A Box Of Hair Is As Dumb As A Bag Of Rocks! And The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread Is In Fact, More Sliced Bread.
4 likes
6 yrs ago
The one disadvantage of having no offline life is that everyone you talk to online *does* have an offline life. So then on Saturday, when you're staying in, everyone else is off dealing with RL.
16 likes

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Here we go.
Sorry about that, I had a busy weekend. I'll start getting my character finalized into a sheet, if there's still room?
"Acceptable. Half now, half when they're dead," the woman said, taking out the equivalent of five hundred Batavian Dollars in credits, setting them on the table. As the closest one to them, Amy took the credits and handed them to the rest of the mercs, keeping all the money in the open so none of them would - incorrectly - accuse her of trying to steal from them. Once they all had their money, hands went to weapons. Amy flipped the safety off on her flechette pistol - each one propelled to unnatural force thanks to micro-gravity generators - and slowly pulled the weapon from her belt as the toughs drew closer. Their client hunched over a little more, hiding her face as best she could, and then-

"Now," Amy murmured, jumping to her feet and firing her gun, the metal spike flying out of her pistol into and through the neck armor of her target, leaving one of the toughs gurgling and pawing at his neck as he tried to breathe. There was a chance the guy could survive, so as the rest of the mercs started shooting, Amy fired again, hesitating only for a few breaths as she nudged her gun to the left slightly, accounted for the man's movements and then -

The spike this time embeded itself in the man's eye, punching all the way through his skull and flying into the floor almost exactly where she'd intended it to.

The toughs that survived the first rounds of shots started to shoot back, and Amy ducked to avoid a spray of plasma bolts that burned through the air just above her. She rolled under the table as she heard one of her fellow mercs get hit and peeked out from under, firing right into the chest of another tough. Next time, wear your armor in the bar, Amy.

The whole thing took less than a minute and a half - two of toughs were left, but as the rest of the bar had reacted to the fighting - no doubt mostly just wanting to not get shot in the crossfire - the two had found nearly every gun in the taproom pointed at them, and they weren't stupid enough - apparently - to keep fighting at that point.
Makes sense. I'll get to the post in an hour or two ^^ gotta run a few errands
If it makes things simpler, I can just make a next post where your character agrees to pay that (or something close) and the shooting starts. I have part of that post written but I should check with you without borrowing your character like that.
"So I can see," Amy chuckled. "But I don't really think you have much time to dicker with us about the price." Whoever this woman was, ad whoever was chasing her wasn't really super-relevant to Amy. What was relevant is that the half-dozen body armored toughs were clearly fucking idiots, to sweep into a merc bar, openly carrying their weapons. All it took is one merc with a bit more booze than sense - very common - or bumping into the wrong, angry guy and then weapons were free.

The body armor was of a model Amy didn't recognize, but the look of it and the composites she could pick out in it suggested it was effective and expensive. The weapons the toughs carried looked to be of Conrad-Voshnikya make, which didn't surprise her. C&V made sturdy, reliable and rugged weapons that could handle just about any environment and pretty much never broke down. They weren't cheap, but they weren't expensive either, and they had quite a few factories out here in the Marches, taking advantage of the lack of labor or environmental laws, the cheaper raw materials (also extracted without labor or environmental laws) and of course, the steady market for their guns in a place like this.

So they have money to throw around, but they're probably mostly local. On the rare occastions a government from outside the marches sent soldiers into the Marches, they carried different brands. Unless they were trying to blend in, but then they shouldn't be walking into a merc bar with their weapons on full display, so Amy's analysis was probably correct.

"Two hundred Batavian Dollars, each," The scarred woman Amy had beaten murmured, looking around at the table as she made her suggestion. "Seems fair?" Amy and the others nodded.

"Or equivalent, in whatever currency you have on hand." Out here, you got used to currency conversions, with money from a dozen major nations and hundreds of piddly little nothings (not to mention various kinds of corporate script), and most mercs especially had a pretty good idea of it offhand, and when they didn't, they could look it up quickly on a device.

Batavian Mining & Refining Inc. was a pretty common employer out here in this part of the Marches and they had a regional headquarters on Pantontus, making their 'Dollars' a common enough currency to judge value by on planet.
Definitely interesting. I'll have to see if I can get a CS in.
There 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.
Bump, looking for a few steady partners that won't drop off mid-rp with no warning.
1. Please make sure you always read the bullet points at the top of the post. They're there for a reason.
2. Since the fact that the bump is nearly 4 days old now isn't enough of an indicator - I am not accepting any further rps at this time, as I sought just a few more, and that's what I have. Please don't PM me with interest at this time further.

Thank you.
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