POOHEAD189

The Blood & The Axe [POOHEAD189 & MacabreFox]

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Rhona could hardly believe her luck at this point in time, just when she had thought it had run out, here was this… man before her. Her dark green eyes, the shade of an evergreen gazed back at him. Everything had happened so fast that she was still coming to terms. He… had helped her, and even more so, he covered for her when the guards had approached. Her slender brows knitted together then as her gaze intensified. She didn’t recognize him as one of the Nightguard that her master had kept, not unless he hired him, but that didn’t seem entirely plausible. What were the chances that she would have met a potential scout to return her?

Rhona cleared her throat then, and then promptly bowed at the waist, a formal half bow, “T-thank you. I… I would stay, but I really must go.” She turned to leave, sparing him one last curious glance.

“Maybe I could help?” He asked, reaching out to her, before pulling his hand back. The words had been pulled from his mouth before he even realized, but she had seemed undeniably forlorn, and it did not sit right with him to just toss her away without the offer. But he wouldn’t push for it too strongly. He shook his head, feeling as if he needed to make an excuse for himself, as if her green eyes could cut through the heart of him. “I guess I just know what it’s like to be in a strange place, alone…” He said with a shrug.

He did not know what kind of help he could be, he realized. As he just admitted, he was not a local to the city either. Hells, he wasn’t even a local of the continent.

His words gave her pause, and after they had died away, she turned slowly to gaze back at him, quirking a brow.

“You would… help?” The notion of receiving help did not settle with her easily. She had been on her own for the better part of two decades, if one could say that, or at least in strange places. It was a feeling that she knew well, one that his words made her mull over with great consideration.

Given the situation, Rhona felt as if she didn’t have a choice. She was hungry. Footsore, and travel weary on top of that. She hadn’t slept in the past two days, and bordered on near collapse.

“Should I… take your aid, if one may call it that… w-what would you ask in return? I have no gold to offer you,” She said, shifting uneasily from one foot to the next.

Beren looked at her, his eyes keen for a human’s. He could tell she wished to hide her visage, but he was unsure why. He felt she must truly be without trust or companionship at all, and when she spoke he knew it to be true. Her words held naked suspicion and unapologetic unsurety. Not the sly, knowing suspicion of a cutthroat or a normal city thief.

In all honesty, he was somewhat lost himself. He had no real idea where he was, but he did know of an inn down the street, at least, and if he could not leave Greybridge today, there was good a place as any to stay the night. He spoke softly, so as not to alarm her.

“I want nothing in return, save maybe a little company?” He added, a light suggestion. While the concept of her being granted aid might be foreign to her, he wondered if he could make her understand, and said aloud: “Have you never wished to help someone before?”

She lowered her gaze, staring at the tops of her worn boots, two sizes too big. Everything in her nature told her not to trust him. Anyone offering help always had an ulterior motive, in her experience. And yet… he had helped her selflessly when she had made the desperate choice to steal food, and even went so far as to deter the guards.

Rhona couldn’t answer his question, not right at this moment. With a deep breath, Rhona reached up, her slender fingers tugging down the hood of her cloak. Her gaze met his then as she waited, holding her breath for a few moments. Sunlight filtered down over the rooftops and into the alleyway, shedding light over her.

While she was a dark elf, her complexion was lighter, a smokey grey with a curious rose undertone. Across her right cheek was an aged scar that spiderwebbed over her cheek, and tapered off at the bridge of her nose. Her hair was a different matter altogether, evoking the image of freshly spilled blood. Her hair was pulled back in a set of twin braids, with a few strands framing her face. Overall, Rhona looked… timid.

“Do you still wish to help me?” Her voice came out tiny, and incredibly small, her gaze focused on him.

Beren flinched, not expecting that at all. A part of his mind told him to take out his axe, to move before he was killed by some foul sorcery. He knew better than most the cruelty of the dark elves. But it was all wrong. If she had wanted to lure him anywhere, she wouldn’t have introduced herself in such a way. After his first thought, his second thought sent blood rushing to his face.

Pretty girl…

He took a breath, trying to suppress his untoward thoughts and his body’s reaction. She was exotic, beautiful even! His heart thumped, audible in his ears. But even that was thrown out of his mind a moment later. He had been trained to live a life of discipline, and though he did not always live up to that ideal, his training helped him prioritize his thoughts and words. Beyond her dark origins, beyond the fact she was breathtaking, he could tell she was sincere. Past it all, she was just a lost soul that was hungry, and he would help her even if they sent him to the chopping block for it.

It was the right thing to do.

He smiled and gave her a bow. “It would be my honor.” He told her in all sincerity.

She exhaled in relief, and rubbed the back of her head before giving him a half smile.

“Ah, I… don’t know what to say,” she said sheepishly. She then stuck out her hand, “I’m Rhona. T-thank you for helping me back there.”

Beren gave a small laugh, glad to see her easing up. He extended his hand and shook hers gingerly. “I’m Beren, and it’s cool. Happy to make a friend.” He told her.

She donned her cloak again, enshrouding her form once again. Beren led her out of the alleyway, turning right, moving north up Gargoyle Street, hitting the intersection where men and women strolled as carts rumbled past. Beren lifted himself up on his tiptoes, growing even taller compared to Rhona as he looked over the milling crowd. “Ok there it is, c’mon,” He bade her.

Ten minutes later, Beren had procured a booth behind a curtain in the corner of the common room. Rhona waited within, and the monk had bought two glasses of clean water and two vrettonian spiced trenchers, carrying the wooden plates over and using his muscled shoulder to brush the curtain out of the way. He placed one in front of Rhona, and then the other on his side. “Sorry that took a sec,” he apologized, plopping down. “I was not sure if you would stay the day, so I purchased a room for you.”

He didn’t tell her half his coin was gone. He could always get a bit more, or sleep in a barn. He was used to travel and rough living. “If you don’t want it, I’ll use it. But if you’re here tonight, you take it.”
He shook his head, expecting her protestations. “We can talk while we eat, but the world’s rough out there. Just get some rest and we’ll call it even, ok?” He had already grabbed his trencher, lifting it to his lips and taking a large bite. A small line ran down his cheek from the juices, and he let out a soft ‘hmm’ before placing his trencher down and wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “Sorry, don’t usually sit with someone.” He chuckled.

Rhona glanced down at the trencher on the plate before her, she could do nothing but stare at the food on her plate, salivating heavily. Her eyes flickered to Beren then, watching as how he ate. She prodded at it with a tentative finger, examining it as if it were going to come alive, satisfied that it wouldn’t, and was safe to eat. Then, awkwardly, she picked up her own trencher, and took a massive bite. She swooned then, the amount of flavor washing over her taste buds making her head dizzy.

“Mm!!” She cried in delight, and quickly downed the entire thing with a few bites. Her stomach was full, sufficiently full for the first time in… years? She was accustomed to a diet of thin gruel, or mushroom bread. She was so eager to savor the meal, she ended up licking her plate clean.

Rhona sat there for a few seconds before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “S-sorry.” She said, her face flushing with a soft pink hue.

Beren laughed in delight. “Hey, no worries. Don’t got to impress.” He said, sitting back. He began scarfing his down as well. He looked much like a wolf.

“You… bought me a room? What about you? Where will you sleep?” She asked, concern lacing her words.

It was true, Beren had been traveling quite a long way. He was tired, and wanting of a bed. But not as much as her, he knew. Greybridge was going to be a place to relax for a bit, but every traveler knew that plans changed, even if it was of their own volition. Beren was too good-hearted to let the promise of a bed keep him from helping someone in need, even if his dwarven uncles would spit on him for aiding a dark elf.

“I can sleep in the common room.” He said, nonchalant. “Or find a place in the stables. I’m used to sleeping in hay, I’ll be alright.”

She lowered her gaze then, studying the grains of the wood beneath her hands, “N-no. I couldn’t accept such an offer, not knowing that you would be in less favorable situations. If… if I may be so forward, we could at least share the room. Please.”

Rhona had a peculiar way of speaking, her tone was gentle and soothing, almost akin to the sensation of warming one’s hands after time spent outdoors in the cold.

Beren paused. It was a kind gesture, and if this was any other situation, especially with a dorcha, he could see himself being a fool to accept. After all, they were known for their cunning and their taste for blood, but…he had initiated every contact between them, and she was as sincere as one could be in the request. He ran a hand through his thick mane of black hair and sighed. “Alright, but only if you get the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He said, a smile on his face.

She glowered, crossing her arms over her chest, “No.”

“No,” she said again. “You paid for the room, you sleep in the bed. Besides, beds are too soft for me. I will take the floor.” Any of the uncertainty that was present in her voice, had vanished immediately, a confidence to her demeanor now. Rhona gazed back at him with half lidded eyes, her brows furrowed into a straight line, and even her lips turned down into a frown.

Beren was stubborn too. It was one of his main faults, actually. It was from spending all that time with the dwarves. But she was the one he was helping, and if she preferred the floor, it was only rational and right to give both of them what they wanted, even if a part of him felt like it wasn’t right.
“Alright,” he capitulated. “As long as you’ll be comfortable, then I’ll sleep on the bed.”

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

"Markus? As I live an breathe!"

The vast corridor was open, with very little in the way of outlets that would hide a face or a body save the shops, offices, and warehouse entrances that dotted the walls of the hall. There was even very little cover above, only two rafters that granted the space structural integrity, and thick windows that showed the great blue beyond of space. And yet even still, it was easy to lose yourself or someone else on the floor, even with a crowd that was merely moderate, along with a few utility and labor droids zipping or stomping by. When the mercenary heard his name called in that familiar baritone, he was surprised he had missed his old friend walking by.

Grimald Ironsides smiled widely, spreading his reddish-brown beard. The older merc wore his usual workmen's garb of yellow and brown, but he had his titanium-c cybernetic arm uncovered and glinting softly from the lights above. Markus saw he still kept his steel leg in his trousers though, thank the Red God. The codger stumbled to the center of the corridor and waved Markus over, a cigar in his mouth. He was half a head shorter than the younger merc, but broad and tough, and not just from the titanium appendages. Markus gave him a rare smile, though it did have to be said Jocasta had a knack of making him smile as well. He didn't consider that, however, as he approached. The two clasped each other's flesh-and-blood arms in greeting.

"What the hells are you doing here, Grim?"

"Me? This is what I do!" The older man extolled, waving his arms about to indicate the business sector. He waved Markus to follow him to the wall, and the two old friends stepped over near an antiquated kiosk, one without even a virtual intelligence to help navigate. Grimald shot the question back. "What in the hells are you doing here? Last I heard you were taking your chances in the southern quadrant, going after something big. 'Least that's what Leonard said."

"Yeah, I took my chances there. Didn't pan out." Markus remarked, glancing at a group of thugs stomping past them, laughing about something unmistakably sleazy. A couple split apart, nearly falling over to get out of their way. "So you're here to sell more of your wares?"

"Yeah, yeah, and sending home the proceeds to the family, 'course." He said, looking off into the distance as if something was warring in his mind. He suddenly came back. "It's easier bein' a merchant these days. Everyone wants to buy, no one wants to sell. And less competition than the blood and guns, game. I go to stations like here when I actually got stock."

"I don't think I'll join you anytime soon, but I'm glad to hear you're doing well." Markus said.

"So tell me, what's the reason for yer being here, specifically? You wouldn't gone so far east unless you had trouble." Grimald reasoned, and the glint in his eyes showed Markus he wouldn't take no for an answer. The merc sighed, and thought he could trust Grimald with the info, and began to recount all the events of the past week, involving Jocasta, Gallanis, the attack on the Caravan on Mazda, and the God's Eye. Grimald laughed a few times, wiggled his eyebrows once or twice, whistled in awe, and by the end of it, he barked a final, disbelieving laugh. The old merc handed Markus a cigar, and though the ex-solder did not usually partake, he decided he could enjoy one with a friend. Grimald lit a wooden match, cooking the stogy a few moments. Grimald had always said you never lit a cigar with a lighter. An old school matched preserved the flavor. "Well lad, can't win 'em all. She sounded promising, but ye did what ye could. Least you got a bigger payday for it with that ship."

"Yeah, there is that." Markus said, and placed his tongue at the bottom of his mouth, exhaling softly to blow out a smoke ring that wafted into the air. He felt like it was six years ago, back when he first started, fresh out of campaigning. His mind always wandered back to Brigval Manor and the shootout he and a few other soldiers-of-fortune had with the infamous Iron Wyrms. Tank had been killed in that fight, but despite that, he remembered it fondly. It was how he wanted to go, at least.

Grimald grinned. "Still remember, eh?" It took Markus a moment to realize he meant the smoke ring.

"Well, you taught me." He replied with a smirk, and the two enjoyed the cigars for a few more moments. "Hey, since you've been here a couple of times, you know where I can find some work here?"

"Well, Nevaro is the best place." Grimald said, pursing his lips. "It's the desert planet, closest habitable one to the sun. They got-"

Grimald's words faded off, as what the two had initially believed was a distant engine soon became a thunderous tumult of armored feet and military-grade equipment. Markus whipped his head to the right, and both mercs watched a large squadron of men charging past them, yelling for civilians and employees alike to make way. They rolled past the two of them with the force of a freight train, and Markus shook his head. "The hells do you think that's about?" He wondered, and heard a wheeze of static. He turned and saw Grimald placing a finger to his ear, and the old cyborg's hearing aids that doubled as comms came flooding back into his memory.

"Most channels don-...wait...seems there's a perp on the station. Woman, sounds like. Highly dangerous, they say."

Markus paused, squinting. His cigar was out of his lips now, his mouth dry. "Got a name?"

"J...Jocasta, but it came out static-y. That's not the girl you came with, right?"

Immediately Markus sighed, placing the palm of his hand to his forehead, his pointer and middle keeping his cigar from his hair chocolate fringe of hair. "Yeah, it is." He said, and he made himself keep his feet planted. "How she got in trouble in half an hour... no, no, I guess I can believe that."

"Well, y'know..." Grimald said, his words trailing off to an unintelligible mutter. Markus had known him long enough to know what he was getting at. He felt the resentment in his breast and the denial in his throat roiling up. She had saved his life, but he had saved hers multiple times. The fact that most of their successes had been a team effort was wasted on him. He had offered to be an equal team member to her, anyway, and he wasn't going to waste his time anymore.

"Forget it, she's on her own." Markus replied with scorn, taking another drag of the cigar. "If she wants to be a merc, she can try and handle herself for once."

Grimald shrugged, pursing his lips again as if in thought. Markus just stood there, trying to lean casually and enjoy his cigar. The men and women that had leaped behind terminals and scrambled into stores were now walking back out, just happy no gunshots had erupted in their vicinity. Markus told himself he felt just as happy to stay out of the action, and the next few moments was a long, awkward silence. Grimald opened his mouth, and then closed it. Markus inhaled again, but an instant later he tossed the cigar on the ground and let out a groan that ended all groans.

"Fuck me!" He yelled, breaking off the wall like he was shoving someone off of him, and without pause he started sprinting down the hall after the guards, wondering why in his wisdom he did not bring his Secare Saber, his main firearm, or his fucking armor.

The Blood & The Axe [POOHEAD189 & MacabreFox]

Honor, duty, and a pinch of curiosity. Without all three driving him forward, it was difficult to tell if he would have traveled so far north. Beyond the Seas of Swords and the Corsair Strait, passed the Land of Dead Gods and the Ruby Coast, traversing the waters of Leth Arian and the expanse of the western sea, he traveled without second thought on what lay before him and the miles left behind. Like the inexorability of gravity and the surety of stone, the monk pushed forward, beyond the Blackwood and Vrettonia, shining silver and gold like in the tales, and at the foot of the peaks of the Dragonback, he knelt at Malgrim's Tomb and paid tribute to his old friend, laying the Amulet of the Patriarchs within the sarcophagi, and he prayed to the Einjar and the Evergod above for their favor and blessing to the dead. He then sealed the stone mausoleum behind a door of bronze, with one great heave of his iron muscles. Only then did he think of where he was, and how long it would take for him to truly go back home.

The land was wintry and wet, though it was close to spring by the talk of the townsfolk he had passed by. The wind chilled him, and the sky wailed like a maiden in the throes of childbirth. He realized he missed the sun and the heat, the waterways that shattered the land and revealed hidden secrets of civilizations long passed. It would be some months before he would find his way back to the Black Delta, and that was if he was in a hurry. But truthfully, he was in no hurry. He merely meandered south now, doing his best to make ends meet. He helped an inn keeper with a few tasks of manual labor for a night spent out of the rain. He helped a woman and her children, refugees of a new war, down the road by acting as the beast of burden for their wagon. The children sang songs and giggled at him singing with them, when he recognized the words. He even saved a man from three bandits who had wanted to relieve him of his life and his money. One night, the monk had seen the yellow eyes of a wolf watching him, before it padded away as if it had never been. It had been an interesting two weeks, to say the least.

But now, after taking a small ferry ride downstream on the river they called the Heathric, Beren had made it to the baroque and towering city of Greybridge. It was the first large city he had ever entered in Northern Torek, save Port Nyrothlenaen on his way in. The architecture reminded him of dwarven work almost, grim and regal in countenance. Not as fine quality, of course, but it matched the colder climes and ancient history of the area. But the streets were packed, and the peasants that had been tilling the fields had flocked to the inner walls for protection or access to the other side of the great river. Beren had just been looking to resupply and travel further downstream, but the prices had gone up, and the market was filled with as many lost serfs and beggars as desperate individuals looking for food.

He wore a grey cloak over his broad shoulders, his trousers baggy but sturdy, and his torso was hugged by a crimson top over a dark blue undershirt. He wore no hat, his thick dark hair was shelter enough in all but the harshest rain. He stood there, hands on his hips, contemplating where to go, before he felt something solid ram right into the small of his back. Beren blinked, suddenly feeling very guilty.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he breathed, turning around to see a hooded figure clutching at her cloak. He could immediately tell it was a woman by her build, and the pretty green eyes that met his brown-eyed gaze. But he didn't catch her face well. Her skin looked as dark as dark iron, but the day was overcast and it could have easily been the shadow of her hood. Either way, he knelt a bit to check if she was harmed. "Are you alright?"

"Thief! Thief!"

The cries came from the milling crowd, arming swords waving in the air to part the throng of locals and refugees that wisely wanted nothing to do with any sort of illegal activity. Beren opened his mouth, his mind whirring to what was happening. For a second he was about to pull the woman out of the way of the guards, assuming she couldn't be the one they were after. But then his mind caught up with him, the cloak, the running, maybe he had stopped a thief? He tensed.

"I'm just hungry," She said in desperation, clutching something to her breast. The words cut into his heart like daggers, and he made his mind up without another moment's hesitation. All the downtrodden he had seen on the road, all of the refugees today, he had to help. He wouldn't realize it later, but the fact the voice was attractive likely had something to do with it, admittedly. He pulled her behind him and whispered 'play along.'

The watchmen nearly stumbled into Beren like the woman had, the men burly with calluses, but not nearly as imposing as the monk if they didn't have on armor and swords, wild eyes glaring at him from under iron helms. "Out of our way! That bitch stole from-" The front man waved his sword about, nearly hitting a curious bystander. Beren caught his wrist in an iron grip.

"Officers, please, this is a big misunderstanding," Beren laughed, producing a golden crown out of his pocket. "I told her to get me a sample from the marketplace, but she forgot the coin. It's my fault really, but when the tradesmen yelled at her she ran right back to me. She's skittish like that, but I should have been there. Here..." Beren let go of his wrist and flicked the coin deftly in the same instant. The man's eyes followed the gold greedily, forgetting the trouble for the moment and trying to catch it. Instead, it hit the ground and rolled between his feet. "This is so embarrassing, honestly. I hope you can forgive us..."

As Beren spoke those last words, he took the woman by the hand and led her away into the crowd, the watchmen now scrambling for the coin. A voice shouted 'hey!' and it echoed, but more bickering erupted, and soon the onlookers covered the square so thickly, the guards were lost within the tides of bodies. Another few moments, and Beren gently pulled the woman into the alleyway, before peering out once more to make sure there was no pursuit.

"Well, I'll miss the money, but it went to a good cause." He reasoned aloud, and then turned back to her, his smile warm. "I'm sorry, I hope you're ok."

(Don't) Burn Da Witch

@BurnDaWitch welcome!

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

Davian had cursed with 'Dark One's own luck!,' more than a bit wary of the strange devices the Aes Sedai was using. After Zoya had fallen unconscious, he tried to gently wake her, but to no avail. Instead, he took the heavy cloth she had used to carry all of her stolen items and poured them out into a neat pile in the sand, before propping the Aes Sedai up and wrapping her with the cloth to keep her warm. The next twenty minutes were far less pleasant, as Davian led a sortee into the wind and rain, wading into the light collection of trees past the sand and finding the driest bits of wood and foliage he could, and gathering all manner of stones, besides.

He got lucky once, chancing a look at a strange shape in the sand, and plucking an unbroken cup out of the beach. It was of Tairen make, which he supposed made some sense. He cleaned it best he could with the rain water, and then let it sit just outside of the small derelict ship Zoya was now slumbering under.

Another twenty minutes later, and Davian had begun a small fire near the aft, ensconced in stones and shielded from the rain as best it could be. A few drops of the rain found their way through the creases in the mottled wood, but overall it was a workable structure. Davian was freezing, but gradually he began to warm from the flames. His stomach gurgled from lack of food, but he was not starving yet. Every so often his eyes would gradually slide back to Zoya, and he wondered what pattern in the wheel had placed he and the Aes Sedai together.

Light, I'm already thinking about traveling with her. If I were smart I would wait until the rain abated and then simply leave. But he knew he was not going to do that. Eventually, he found a comfortable position, using his dried jacket as a place to rest his head as he decided to get an hour or two of sleep, the flames now all but embers. When she awoke, he was going to want to know what exactly all of these items were for, and it was his last thought before he drifted into a fitful slumber.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"I thought we'd have more time," Emmaline whispered to Neil, and he had to agree. The three of them, the two scoundrels and the bandit captain, were hunkered down in the long gallery as bullets and shimmering projectiles flew through the timber, shattering glasses and breaking furniture. Neil grabbed her by the hair and kissed her thoroughly, before saying. "Same, babe." Before he turned to Johann.

"Hey, toss me my bag," he told the bandit. Johann unloaded a shot wildly out the window, smoke and flame erupting before he ducked back down.

"Your bag? Why?" He asked, ears ringing from the gun's loud bang.

"I got a rifle in there!" Neil called, referring to his hochland rifle. Johann blinked, looking at the bag and then back to Neil, suspicion warring with pragmatism. Neil gestured expectantly, but when none came he gave the man a tired look.

"Come on! You think I'm gonna shoot you here? Now?" He asked incredulously. "I mean, I guess that would be silly."

Emmaline poked her head out from behind Neil's shoulder. "He is silly!"

"I am," Neil admitted, but he held out his hand, a stern expression on his face. "But I want to get my girlfriend out of here, and we're Empire men, right? We might be bastards, but when beastmen attack, we work together, right?" He didn't want to admit the ratmen were anything else, and it didn't do to argue over the matter now. Johann regarded him, and then tossed him the bag after a moment's hesitation. Neil caught it, and pulled out his hochland rifle and shot. He handed the rifle to Emmaline, who held it, planting the butt on the ground as Neil loaded the gun quickly and efficiently, before she handed it back to him. A green bullet of warpstone spat through the wall between Neil and Johann, making a hole the size of a ham in the thick wooden barrier.

"Hey, thanks." Neil remarked, as if speaking to the gods themselves. He slid the barrel of his rifle into the hole, using it as a makeshift stand, before aiming down its ironsights. Grey and brown furred shapes roiled in the foliage and behind buildings, but he saw a green flash, and he turned his gun to a skaven hastily reloading a jezzaile. It looked both comical and horrifying to see a man-sized rat working a rifle almost as well as Neil, but just as it shouldered its gun again, Neil pulled the trigger of his weapon. The rifle kicked, and blood spattered on three clan rats as the Skaven marksmen fell down to the ground.

"Ok that's one down. If we keep this up, we'll kill all of them by the end of the day."

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Markus didn't believe her.

Not at first, at least. No sane person would refuse a deal like that, he thought. All that money and the fastest ship in a noble's fleet? But when she didn't come back with a sly smile and a snappy one liner, it dawned on him she was serious. He gave a small 'hmm?' and shrugged, just to himself, and then raised his glass to get it refilled. He half expected to return to the Artemis seeing it plundered, as she knew the codes to get in after he reset them. But it didn't matter too much to him.

"Bad luck, stranger?" The waitress said when she arrived, refilling his glass. Markus gave a melancholic smirk, only glancing her way.

"Wasn't my luck." He remarked cryptically. The woman gave a small bit of chit chat, but he wasn't interested enough to find out if it was due to her interest or wanting a nice tip. He spoke to her until he finished his third round, then he paid, before making his way to the third floor, finding a lift that would take him to the Posting Agency. He hadn't been to this station before, but Bondsman offices were always around the same place in hubs like this, and since he had time to kill and a new system to plunder, might as well start early.

The lift dinged and the doors slid open, revealing the mercantile floor. A labor droid stomped past him monotonously, the hydraulics in its digitigrade legs audible like pistons as it carried a half a ton of cargo along the lane, red lights running up its side to serve as sensors so it didn't step on any unsuspecting civilian. The floor looked much the same as the God's Eye, only even more varied of toughs and petty factions and competing businesses. Whoever owned this station likely got revenue from the rent and taxes of those they let conduct business here, not nearly as ambitious or grasping as Gallanis. Markus followed the signs and turned left, searching for the agency, but walking without too much purpose. Might as well relax. Despite Jocasta walking out on him, he felt happy to have escaped the God's Eye alive.

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Markus gave a disbelieving laugh, turning to her. "Hey, we never made a deal on that. I even told you to stay behind, you helped of your own volition without-"

"It does not detract from services rendered nor does it compensate me for my own losses," She pointed out, taking another sip from her drink, as if in victory. Markus was not the kind of guy to accept that, however.

"All I see out there is the ship I flew away with, with you as a passenger, and a ship only I can handle." He added, having slid his leg and foot off the bench and down to the floor, facing her.

"Now that you mention it, I do need a pilot..." She mused audibly.

The mercenary smiled despite himself. "Is this your way of asking to partner up? No need to be coy, just ask straight up."

"You were the one being coy," She said.

"Alright, let's cut the bullshit." Markus took another huge swig of his drink and clapped the glass on the table, sliding it to his left. He placed his left elbow on the table and held out his hand. "Equal partners, we co-own the ship, I pilot it, and you can keep every trinket and expensive item on board to sell and you can keep all of that money, for services rendered in helping me hit the God's Eye. Do we have a deal, or should we solve this a different way?"

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

"My friend?" He echoed, amused. He gave a smiled that showed his teeth as he looked into his drink, taking another sip. He was going to remind her he had never been hired by Gallanis before, but he knew she was joking. An eyebrow raised when he saw her finishing her drink that quickly. He was just past halfway done. Granted, he wasn't actually trying to get hammered, at least not yet. He waited for a handful of seconds while her glass was refilled. Markus gestured his get the same treatment. Why not? As the bar waitress refilled his glass, he deflected her original question, preferring to discuss it without staff nearby. "By the way, I said I'd buy you one drink. If you want me to keep paying the tab, better make it worth my while somehow."

The waitress smiled knowingly, glancing at Jocasta, before hurrying away. Markus imagined most of their patrons were a bit rougher to both them and each other. Markus' eyes flicked to the departing woman, and then he answered her question. "Definitely. But not for awhile. By now they're probably figuring out what happened, and if they can even find our jump trail, it won't be for another day or two. And then he'll need to mobilize and head after us. Luckily, if he does find us, we'll already have the best ship."

Markus turned, placing his back against the wooden frame that shielded them from the gameroom where the holovid hung, placing his left elbow on the table, idly holding his drink. His other hand placed a toothpick in his mouth, and he watched the room. A couple laughed as their friend spilled their ale onto his lap, and a number of toughs were being escorted out while the waiters were busy removing the pieces of a broken table. The rest of the room was an amalgamation of conversation and the occasional outburst of disappointment or laughter. It was just his method, to watch his blind spots. "So, what are your plans now that you're a free woman? Still looking to be a merc?"

He idly swung his head her way, looking for all the world like a corsair by his lazy manner coupled with his scars and dangerous vibe. "I guess I got room for another on the Artemis." He remarked, nonchalantly naming the ship. Ravenwing was a fine name, but they couldn't steal it and not change the ship's title or ID markers.

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

The night did not go by without a few hiccups. Despite the newfound camraderie, they were smart enough not to let Neil and Emmaline spent much time alone together. Though Neil insisted on never leaving her side, just in case. Secondly, there was no way they weren't going to pilfer their goods, and while the chocolate and wine was enjoyed, trying to take the gold almost had Emmaline grabbed a handful and leaping out of the window, and Neil wasn't a big fan of it either. There was only a marginal amount of sleep, Neil and Emmaline taking it in turns, and once they woke up, they looked pretty poor, even if they did their best to appear jovial and ready to work.

A strange thing, how an entire horde of beastmen could be repelled by them at the tower, but a group of bandits had them getting up at the crack of dawn, taking all of their gold with a smile.

Still, there was some good news. If the bandits were a solid band, they might actually make a decent wage during their association. Plenty of refugees when a chaos incursion occurred, after all. Hopefully Ranald blessed them with a few rich ones to plunder.

"Oh, you buried him? Right decent of ya," Clause applauded Neil, the two of them and a tough named Hef having gone out back to check the perimeter, the one time Neil was to leave Emmaline alone since they promised it would be a short trip. The three had come upon the servant's grave Neil had dug the day before.

"Yeah, felt like if I was gonna live here, the garden could use a bit of fertilizer." Neil joked.

"He was a mouthy one, got to be honest. Started talking about legacy and his master's honor and all that. Johann got tired of it, and when he didn't tell us where the gold was, well..." He placed a finger to his head and bent his thumb in the manner of a pistol's hammer.

"That's how it goes." Neil said with a shrug. "So, what's the plan for you boys? Or us, I guess? We staying or going off to work."

"Got to ask Johann, but I think he's got something cooking."