Raven's Nest: Lancer Barracks and Bar (RolePlaying Enforced)

Karen's polytail snapped around. A half-full shot glass touched down on the counter. The stool made way as she stood up.

"Don't get involved."

Karen looked back and smirked, "You know me better than that!"

She was met with a deep sigh; old Radomir knew better than to argue.
Grinning, she left him at the bar and made her way to the window just in time to watch the bout start.

Tsk tsk tsk. He's gonna--

A grimace flashed across her face. --yup.

 

A somber looking man and his female companion sit in a shadowed corner of the bar. He stares intently at the rather loud figure just entering, while she happily punches numbers into a calculator.

"What the problem, boss? You look even grumpier than usual. With them covering parts and ammo, we came out way ahead on that fight the other day. Your mech being so under powered means we may have made as much as the 2nd place entrant."

"I am aware of the gains we made", he replies, "I'm just not sure I can process the fact that that is what managed to best the arena. It's disgusting."

"Eh. You signed up for the merc life. Should've known what you were walking into. Besides, didn't somebody say, and I quote, 'I think that ridge would offer a better view of the field.' I told you halfway through to keep your ass behind cover. Not his fault -or mine- you didn't listen."

His eyes narrow in frustration. "So it would seem. It appears I have some adjustments to make on this world. For both our sakes, lets hope I make them quickly".

 

Derek sits up at the boisterous new comer and leans over the table slightly towards his handler. "Seems the one we were waiting for has finally decided to grace us with his presence. You are correct as always." He gives his partner a quick wink before standing up. She merely shakes her head and dismissively waves him on.

With her approval given, he waltzes up to the bar next to this so called champion throwing some bills on the bar. "Keep, make it two. This rounds on me." Turning, he extends his hand. "Name's Derek, pleasure to meet the champ. I wish our greeting could have been plasma to the face but a drink will have to do. Heard you put on a mighty fine show."

 

Radomir allowed his eyes to trail to the new arrival briefly, scoffed, and turned back to the bar.
Karen still hadn't returned from watching the ruckus going on outside, not that he felt like hunting her down.

Again.

Movement drew his glance back to the fellow with the slasher smile; he'd already been joined by another.

Oh. Already on to the second glass, I see.
He smiled and turned away.

 

Katja cocks an eyebrow as Thomas finally grabs his drink and walks up the bar. Approaching the... strange... fellow at the front, he extends a hand.

"As much as my performance shames me, I would be a poor loser if I did not offer congratulations. You fought with honor of a sort. I look to forward to facing you again on the battlefield - as ally or otherwise."

 

Glitch laughed at the scene unfolding at the bar from his comfortable booth. "Behold the hero of the hour! See how his boots shine from the spittle of sycophants! May you find your traitor before you slip and break your neck, Sir Foretold Chosen!" With a flourish he downed his drink and ordered another.

"That may have been unwise. He handled himself well enough." Ratchet whispered at his side.

"True, but he doesn't need to know that. Besides, I will not kiss an ass I may have to shoot off tomorrow." With a smile, he raised his new drink to those he had insulted.

 

Thomas looks at his hand in horror for a moment before stalking back his table and slamming back into the seat. Katja grins at him.

"You like you swallowed a bug. Still think the whole "honor in and out of combat" thing is worth it?"

He wipes his hand off on a napkin before answering. "We'll see. That one definitely has me questioning though. I can't promise I won't put him out of all our misery next time I face him."

Her grin fades. "Watch it boss. Most of the Lancers here have a lot more tech than we do. It may be awhile before we can really challenge any of them without backup. And even then, we don't get paid for icing mercs. Eyes on the real prize."

He sighs. "You're right. Besides, I cannot kill someone simply for being unpleasant."

Hearing Glitch's proclamation, Thomas raises his own glass in return. "Still, I suspect that lunatic will have more enemies than me here. Fate may end up doing me favor."

 

Strahl sits in a rear booth paying half a mind to the conversation around him while he nurses 22oz of something warm and strong. The soft glow of the small battered monitor in front of him highlights his face as it shimmers and hums, playing a recording of the previous day's free-for-all. A sudden flicker of green brings his attention to an incoming call as a voice comes through the speakers both polite and demanding "Tell me what you see."

He puts down his glass and responds "I'd rather be back at the dropship getting drunk than sitting here."

"No," Lamia curtly barks, a quick flash of lime colored light from the corner of the screen emphasizing the sharpness of her command "I have too much work to do to go there myself and we need a better picture of the other pilots, now tell me what you see."

Strahl gives a small sigh as he puts down his drink, adjusts his posture and looks over to the bar while giving his brief report. "The Axman pilot didn't show. The Wolverine's pilot seems to be the only one here putting a good foot forward wherever he can, and he looks as poor as his mech is equipped."

A few seconds of silence prompts Lamia for her opinion and a shuffling of papers can be heard coming from her side of the call before she speaks. "Paladin... New to the area, kind of like you but less in the bank and a bit of a bleeding heart. He's probably trying to make a few friends to help compensate his older mech. Not a bad idea to be honest, we could use him. What about the Champion who spent the match playing grab ass with you?"

"Odin's crows would squawk less and say fewer riddles." Strahl chuckled, "Still I find his silliness endearing if nothing else, he reminds me of Jorgi from back home. Anyways, he said something about... 'the wicked one, a traitor ...warn him that my hunt begins' so on a so forth." He finishes gesturing his hand in a forward rolling motion to no one out of poor habit.

"Sounds like a revenge motive... good, good we can leverage that if we find out more. Doubly so in fact," she states in an amused tone. "According to the guild records he's contracted with AI as well. Glad you can tolerate him because you'll likely be working with him."

Strahl gives a small disappointed hum for an answer as his eyes drift elsewhere on the screen. "What? I thought you just said he was endearing." Lamia pipes as the green comms window winks at him. "Unless....something else is bothering you. What's wrong?"

For the umpteenth time since he sat down Strahl watches as his old mech falls into the water as the small river's shore gives out beneath 50 tons of metal. The weathered armor crumples and breaches upon contact with the water, rendering his long range weapons useless and limiting him to a single heavy medium laser. "I could've done better for that match."

"The water breach was one in a million. You did exactly what we needed you to," came her words of encouragement. "You showed up in a stock medium mech to a grand melee with all of three weapons and came out in second place. The local Lancers pulled out after applying or didn't even bother attending and who knows what kind of message that sends to the corporations sponsoring the event. When you lost most of your weapons loadout your change to defensive strategy showed off a bit of your tactical thinking. Plus, what you did to that Axman with a single laser! Ducking behind the wall cover just out of his sight and remaining within 90 meters, stalking his seismic signature until he gave just the right moment for you to strike? The fireworks from that ammo explosion certainly put on a good show. You have nothing to feel sorry about so put on some thicker skin already.... your mech already has.

An eyebrow shoots up as Strahl's attention returns to the screen, his dourness gone in an instant. "The upgrades on the Hellhound?"

"As good as done." She proudly proclaims "The winnings from that bout were just what we needed for the full package, you'll be a real contender from here on out. I just need you to finalize a few details and you'll have that extra range and firepower you need to give any Lancer and small militia good reason to pause... Gather some intel on the other pilots and then come back to the drop ship when you're ready. " Crackling ends her sentences as the call is disconnected and the recording of the grand melee regains its dominance of the screen, returning once more to the start of the match as the contestants left their starting positions.

Strahl closes the comms window and returns to his drink, stopping briefly to mutter "Oft in the woods is a listener nigh, chrome crow who fell backwards into his nest."

 

Slapping his partner on the shoulder, Thomas drains his glass and sets it down. "I'm heading to the bay to check on the repairs. That leg will likely need to be completely rebuilt and I don't want them screwing with the specs. Will you be staying long?"

Her normal lopsided grin returns. "Not sure yet. I have a few numbers to run, and I kind of like the, uh, entertainment around here."

Thomas frowns slightly, but nods. "Fair enough. If you get a minute, take a look at what mechs the corps here are offering. That one will need replacing when we get some cash."

Giving a final nod and a look around the bar, Thomas heads toward the door.