A Cowboy walks into a bar
|
A RolePlay Log by | |
|
Title |
A Cowboy walks into a bar |
|
Date |
2014 June 7 |
|
IC Date |
2534 Dec 13 |
|
Location |
The Dregs Bar and Grill |
|
Appearing |
Phelan Maxim Calira Special guest star Mia |
The joys of married life sometimes include handling distasteful matters involving weasels, clods and what passes for 'atmosphere' at a local bar.
The Dregs Bar and Grill - Persephone
"No Poofs," reads the big sign just inside the doorway to the Street, and the general decor of the Dregs backs up that assertion. Grim faced spacers sit on battered wooden chairs at equally battered tables or stand at the bar eating sandwiches and drinking and laughing and cussing. The long bar is rimmed with brass fittings, dented and pockmarked and worn from years of elbows and dirty hands. The mahagony surface of the bar is well polished and waxed. There are no bar stools, but despite this lack patrons belly up to the bar and vie for position with eachother at all hours, and at any given moment a fight is likely to break out. Behind the gruff looking bartender a large sign proclaims, "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. That means you, fancy-pants!"
Small wooden tables are scattered haphazardly about the center of the room, each surrounded by a small cluster of chairs, none of them new. Booths line the walls and offer a modicum of privacy for those who desire or require such. The table in the corner to the right of the door as one faces the bar has a card game going, and the rumor around town is that that same game has been going on, with rotating players, for over a year non-stop.
So it's the Dreggs. The day and time the anonmyous blackmailer said to be heree. Upon entry Phelan (And before him Maxim) is assailed with the scent of stale piss, fresh BO, smoke, and cheap beer. It's fairly busy, most tables are occupied, but there is only one table where someone sits alone and has no drink, waiting. A wirey man with greasy straw colored hair, small piggish eyes, and a three day beard. He's armed, armored, wearing a battered old browncoat. <English>
As it's the day of the meeting, yes Maxim heads into the bar first. He weaves around the people and makes his way up to the bar as per his usual. He even orders his usual, which still causes Gus's eyes to roll as he moves to get some hot tea for the lad. Such a weirdo, and yet brave ordering something like tea in a place like this. He scans the crowd, as he usually does, taking note of this person or that. The lone table is noticed as well, and while he does quick calculations in his head (is the guy sitting back toward the wall, did he let himself get pinned in the corner or is he set to be able to run either direction, etc.) He keeps looking, perhaps to see if anyone else looks extra equipped for a night of drinking. <English>
"Ahh, the smell of the unwashed public," Calira mutters in a low voice, "civilians," making the single word a curse and insult at the same time. "Present company excluded, of course," she comments in a quiet aside to Maxim and skims a look around the room. "I can blend into the background over there," she offers, "or play like we're together. Your choice," she murmurs, letting Max decide how she plays the angle as she indulges in one of the many facets of her training that allows her to be unobtrusive, simply uninteresting, in the room so that she draws no attention. Not even Gus really pays attention, as she didn't order anything OR offer up money for anything. <English>
Maxim replies to Cal, his voice kept low, "Here is fine, many already know we know each other, I was told by the listeners once natural is preferable when possible." He waits for his tea, weird but natural for him, and keeps his gaze moving about, also natural for anyone who knows him, and for the regulars at the bar who've seen him there before. He occasionally glances at the table that caught his attention, but only as much as he looks at everything else, giving it neither extra nor less attention, yes normal is key. <English>
The suspicious man by his lonesome in the far corner checks the time on his watch and shifts restlessly in his seat-waiting. Seemingly alone. Though if that's true his placement could be unfortunate. For him. At least if Mia were to not show up alone. <English>
Calira shares a subtle nod though she doesn't reply aloud, having settled her focus on her half of the room while Maxim manages his half. She leans back against the bar, adopting a look of disinterested boredom as she begins talking absently at Maxim about weapons, keeping up a background white noise chatter that she knows Maxim will ignore just as she ignores the mindless conversation that swirls around the room and the atrocious (capital A for atrocious actually) so-called singing going on in the bar. <English>
The door to the Dregg's open and in steps Phelan Daniels. He's wearing his browncoat, cowboy hat, the button up shirt, the dungerees, and the boots. The whole nine years. The cowboy doesn't make his way to the man but first heads to the bar. There's a nod and he asks for a beer in a bottle. He doesn't cast a glance to Calira and Max nor the suspicious man. <English>
The man waiting in the corner turns his head and spits a bit of spent chew and slouches back shaking his head emphatically even though he's sitting alone. Odd. <English>
Maxim continues to look about at the room. He takes note of Phelan, like he does everyone else. If noticed he'll nod politely but otherwise just takes his tea and pays Gus, thanking him quietly. He nods at whatever Cal says, she's talking about weapons so it's at least something he can relate to, even if it is idle chit chat. The spit is noticed briefly but otherwise he continues his conversation with Cal, sipping at his tea not seeming to mind the heat. Heat does help kill germs after all, and well look where they are. That's probably important. <English>
Calira slides into talking about reload times, hands tucking comfortably into her back pockets, her hands now quite comfortably close to any number of weapons, while tracking the progress of Phelan through the room. She doesn't actually do more than sweep a look toward the spitting patron (the one in particular, that is) watching everyone else in the room instead. Again, division of labor. <English>
Phelan takes up his beer, it was prepackaged or so he liked to tell himself. Knowing Gus, he had some Eavesdown Angels filling up empty bottles in the back putting caps back on. Phelan takes a drink of his beer. Then moves to sit down across from the lonesome man. He says as casually as if he knew the guy, "She ain't coming." Then takes a sip of his beer. <English>
The man squints at Phelan and shifts his weight, one hand dropping out of sight underneath the table, "That so? Who the hell are you, mate?" <English>
As Phelan moves over to the table, Max takes notice, but his eyes move onward. The hand under the table is taken note of, but there's not much he can do about that at the moment. The important thing is making sure the man's alone, and letting Phelan handle what he needs to. He answers Cal, something about weapon speeds she had started talking about, and then sips more at his tea using his vantage point to keep an eye on the place in general as he speaks with her. <English>
Maxim tests his Spot against a 75 difficulty. The result is successful (51).
Neither Calira's expression or body language changes, even at the sight of the weasels hand reaching for what is undoubtedly a weapon beneath the table. She hopes its a weapon, at least. If it's not a weapon and it's something else, well, this probably is that kind of bar. Men. Who knows. <English>
Calira tests her Spot against a 75 difficulty. The result is successful (29).
"Whoa there, pard." Phelan says with a grin, "I bring that hand up nice and gentle like put it on the table. We're just having a nice freedly chat here." He says taking a drink. "It don't much matter who I am. I'm telling you she ain't going to be showing. It's best you go looking somewhere else." <English>
The man leans back and peers, "Ooooh, you're the cowboy. Don't tell me she's hiding behind YOU." He slouches back, hand resting on the table, "Oh well. you'll do." And with that he suddenly kicks the table up against Phelan. Which prompts his four companions in a table behind the corner table (between the corner table and the route to the door) to stand, one armed with brass knuckles to rapidly approach Phelan from behind. <English>
[NPC-ROLL] Mia rolls for a 50/50 chance. The result is successful (63).
Maxim tests his Melee_Attack against a 83 difficulty. The result is successful (62).
Maxim tests his Melee_Attack against a 83 difficulty. The result is successful (62).
Phelan tests his Martial_Arts against a 83 difficulty. The result is successful (12).
Maxim frowns at the sudden movement of everyone, as the table upturns he realises he'll be needed sooner than expected. Then again the man stuck himself in the corner, so he foolishly thought he'd pin Phe in there with those men, instead of getting himself trapped. With the four men standing up and starting to move, Max springs into action. Movement, his muscles releasing their hidden pent up energy as he leaps forward. He spins around a clueless bystander, hands reaching in and snapping out his blades from the hidden drop sheathes in his coat. He approaches the two closest to him and slaps out, using the flats of his blades as he strikes the backs of their necks, hopefully with enough force to knock them unconscious and not to break those necks. It's a new thing for him, not going for the kill but they may need answers. <English>
The moment the jig is up, the 'jig' being the table, Calira continues to work her half of the room - trusts Phelan to take care of himself for the moment - as she moves swiftly through the room toward the table in the corner. She's only half a step behind Maxim, though it's a bare measure of time - fractional really - before she's closing in on the other two that Maxim hasn't engaged. She drawing as she'd tugged her hands free of her pockets and seizing hold of a pitcher of beer along the way. The pitcher of beer is hurled in the face of the nearest 'companion' to the weasel-friend of their target, bringing the gun she's holding into position to draw on the last 'friend', "Try me," she says in a low and utterly calm tone of voice, always bring a gun to a knife fight. <English>
[ROLL] Phelan rolls for a 50/50 chance. The result is failure (30).
Phelan tests his Agility against a 80 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-26).
Phelan tests his Agility against a 106 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-37).
Phelan hadn't expected the table to table to come up and over him. It catches him and knocks himself back in his chair. He goes crashing into a ground and a pile of splinters as boards break. The luxuirious built to last furniture of the Dreggs galling apart. With a table ontop of him. Phelan raises his arm and takes aim firing his tazer dart into the leg of the guy who started this mess. "Gorram." <English>
[NPC-ROLL] Mia rolls for a 50/50 chance. The result is failure (2).
Phelan tests his Martial_Arts against a 52 difficulty. The result is successful (54).
The two men Maxim take down don't even have a CLUE of their impending doom, closing in on Phelan before dropping with twin meaty ker-THUDS. There's a thunk-splash as one is knocked on his ass by beer and the fourth freezes, hand on the butt of his firearm before it sloooowly lifts off it. The Greasy man who'd whacked Phelan with the table gives a gutteral gasp and falls like a sack of bricks, convulsing a bit on the filthy floor of Dreggs. <English>
Maxim looks over the others a moment, though he's confident they won't be doing anything just not sure if they'll live. He looks at the one Cal has a gun on, seems she has him under control. Phelan gives him the most concern. As table guy falls over he moves to Phelan to help him out from the table wreckage. At least it broke, would've been worse had all the force travelled to him. "Are you alright?" <English>
It's only a small effort of will but Calira manages to quell the bubble of disappointment that rises within her when Thing 2 of her pair lifts his hand slowly off of his firearm. "That's more like it," she says, her voice utterly reasonable and quiet - pitched quiet, deliberately, so that Thing 2 and Thing 1 (the B team to Maxim's A team) has to actually keep quiet to hear her. "Do we need them alive?" she asks as she fishes a pair of flexi-cuffs out of one pocket and tosses one to Thing 2, "You know how these fashion accessories work. Put 'em on or I'll start having difficulty remembering that you're supposed to be breathing at the end of this little dance." <English>
[ROLL] Phelan rolls for a 50/50 chance. The result is failure (2).
Phelan tests his Agility against a 52 difficulty. The result is successful (18).
Phelan stands up with broken wood all around him. He looks a little worse for the wear but still in the fight. "I'm fine pard." He grins at Calira, "Chief, Feds or others get a bit mad when you kill people on thier turff." <English>
Thing two catches the zip-ties, "Not putting these on. You'll have to shoot me." The man who'd attacked Phelan twitches occasionally but by now is mostly still. <English>
Looking at 'thing two,' Maxim says calmly, "if you do not put those on I will cut your hands off so she will be unable to use them anyway, and then maybe your feet, then your forearms and shins... Until such a time as I feel you are properly not a concern for us anymore, whether they want you alive or not. I would rather not have to pay the owner to clean the blood." He slips the blade toward the man's throat. "So put them on... Now." his tone is even, matter of factly said. But the gaze as he looks at the man is definitely that that brokers no conversation about the point. <English>
Calira aims a smile at Phelan without taking her eyes off of Thing 2, "Good point, it's rude, isn't it? All these social customs to remember," she murmurs and waits while Maxim has his say. She sees the subtle change of expression on Thing-2's face and makes a minute adjustment to her aim and sends a bullet searing along Thing-2's upper arm. "Try me," she offers, again, watching as blood blossoms on the side of the thugs upper arm and rapidly spreads. Flesh wound, it's all just a flesh wound, and the round continued (harmlessly) through the air to land in the wall behind the thug, she'd calculated that as well. <English>
Phelan looks down at the one on the ground quiver and probably relieving himself of his bowls. "This one the one we probably want to talk too." He nods his head to Thing 2. "Thats some probably low rent street tough trying to make a name for himself. Got hired by the wrong guy. I'd maim him, give him a souveniour." <English>
The man jerks and twists, dropping the cuffs and holding his arm and cussing lividly, "You SHOT me, you bitch!!!" He grits his teeth and stoops to pick up the cuffs and slips them on, glaring at Calira the while. The man at phelan's feet grooooans. <English>
Maxim looks down at the one on the ground and says, "Let us restrain him and be away, I am sure the owners would prefer our being gone and not causing the authorities to show up...again." At least there were no exploding band members this time. That was.... messy doesn't begin to describe. <English>
"Oh it's just a flesh wound, you whine like a bitch," Calira retorts as Thing-2 slips the cuffs on - awkwardly, from her point of view - and cinches them tight around his wrists. "Pansy," she mutters and scoops up the bullet casing, never not a time to police her own brass. She pockets the spent casing and then, only then, does she waste time to tie a length of material around Thing-2's upper arm to apply pressure to the wound. "It'll scar, it'll annoy, but you won't die from it. Man up," she suggests and waves him back to the table he'd been at before this dance began. With her eyes on him she fits the cuffs on the other one on the ground, though this time she links Thing-1's wrists behind him, just for fun. Or variety. <English>
Phelan eyes the pair. He doesn't say a word. Then he looks back down at quivers, "So you want to go question our friend here?" He says kicking the guy in the ribs. Yes, Phelan's not above kicking a man when he's down. <English>
[4117.11 MHZ Ch:1] Calira says, "If we're going to interrogate him, lets not do it here. It could get messy. and it could take time. We're on a count down now until we possibly get company. We need to ex-fil within five minutes. Max." <English>
Thing two glares, thing one actually snikkers and calls to Calira, "What you doing after all this, sweetheart?" <English>
If looks could kill. Max eyes thing one, but then nods at what Cal speaks into the comm and says, "We are already too long. But yes let us go." He slides his blades away and draws a pistol into one hand, and then moves to pick the 'cargo' up, unless Phelan does it. But one way or another they are going to be out the door. He speaks quietly into the comm. <English>
[4117.11 MHZ Ch:1] Maxim says, "We should take the back alleyways whenever possible, I am sure we do not want to be seen with him." <English>
Calira aims a brief, albeit fierce, grin at Thing-1, "You don't want to know, buddy," saying in return, moving with Maxim toward their cargo. "Shall we?" she suggests in a rather amiable tone of voice, as though this is just a stroll through the spaceport with a poodle on a leash. Oh, right, it IS a dog . . and not even a particularly appealing one at that. <English>
[4117.11 MHZ Ch:1] Calira says, "Remember, move calmly, get him to walk as much as possible where he might be seen. Never rush, never run, nothing draws attention more than fleeing the scene." <English>
Return to logs at Dark Star Security
