Bengalo Draba: Tension

Location: Capital City, Osiris
Time: July 13, 2529
Players: Carson, Valentina, Marcus, Kennedy, Jeremiah

Jeremiah sneers at Marcus's response and assures him, "M'eyes're ruttin' pretty an' you know it." He wipes at his nose, boxer-style, and shifts weight again as he nods to Kennedy liking her response much better. "Why'd I ruttin quit... le's see. Can' really r'mem'er... summat abou' I wan'ed ter go 'ome be wit' m'family. I dunno... seemed importan' at th'time. I en'ed up flyin' aroun' wit' Liz fer a bit an' 'er 'usban' an' I got inter a scuff an' I finally wen' 'ome." He shrugs, but knowing Jeremiah, scuff probably meant shoot out with broken bones and missing teeth.

Clank, clank, clank. Three men disembark the Draba, all wearing some form of full body armor...two are wearing the heavy Triarus and the other one a Velites...one could probably guess what their functions were...battle. They were all armed...ok, well, not here. Carson has his helmet on, covering his full body...along with the others. "Remember to keep your eyes peeled," he says to the others...maybe this wasn't the place to be doing field training, but, then, Carson wanted his men to be used to all sorts of environments..."Remember...this is training. Your guns are obviously fake, so don't even try scaring people..."

"Like a pair o' emeralds," Marcus acknowledges, shakign his head to clear the unpleasant ocular considerations. "Well, if they can't deal with a little tussle here an' there, fuck'em, right? So what're y'doin' now? Get tired o' the wide open plains out the rim? We gave that shit a shot ourselves, for 'buot a year. Reavers convinced us t'come back inwards a bit." All that clanking over by the Bengalo can't go unnoticed, and it doesn't. With a grunt, Mark looks over to the gypsyboat, staring incredulously at the little performance and rumbling, "Aw, what the fuck is this now?"

"Heh yeah been ridin' 'orses an' what not reckoned I los' m'orse legs all 'em years on a boat. Came back nach'rally 'nuff. Reckon I were jus' goin' out t'see what were 'appenin' abou' th'verse when I came 'ere an' ran inter yer lot," he gives Kennedy and Marcus an appreciative grin before looking towards what Marcus was insinuating, "Ruttin'..." Jeremiah puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head, "Lookie 'ere Marcus, th' 'ccordian monkeys're dancin' fer credits." You can take the Juggernaut out of Tortuga, but you can't take Tortuga out of the Juggernaut.

Carson had heard the outrageous outburst of cus words and he decided to use them as practice props. He eyes the man, and looks to his grunts. "Suspicious man over there. he is armed and dangerous and is trying to get on the Draba; what ya do?" He stated as a scenario for his men...one of them actually takes it serious while the other trainee gets the idea he is suppose to answer it...but Carson holds his hand up as the smart one begins to answer. "Bob, get back here...it was a question not a test!" He says, but the man is already nearly on top of Marcus before hearing the question and was about to tackle the man when he heard Carson's word. It was too late...with his weight already leaning forward, the man, Bob, falls on top of Marcus. Luckly, Bob is wearing the light weight Velites and not the heavy armor which would probably have broke bones.

Well that's not good. The little trio standing together would doubtless end up with domnoes, Marcus at least falling into Kennedy. Luckily, he's turning to face the strange man with the fake gun as he approaches. "What the gorram hell.." the big man rumbles, though he can't help but smirk in amusement as the guard comes at him. Amusement rather than aggression meets the advance, but then Bob's stumbling, and Mark has to shift his weight fairly quickly to brace himself. Luckily the old spacer's a big, thick tree truck of a man, and he neds up catching the guard under the arms. So there he stands, with the guy's face in his chest, helping the idiot keep the very precarious position and not tpple the both of them. Glancing to his friens, Marcus grunts, "Buddha's bouncin' balls, if this is the best the fuckin' gypsies could do, it ain't no wonder they gorram near got wiped off Paquin." Gathering himself, Mark grunts and gives a shove, pushign the guard up and back, and maybe onto his feet. Maybe. "Up y'go."

Kennedy leans over slightly, the movement necessary to see around Marcus to see what is transpiring with this little farce of a training exercise. She lifts a lit cigar to her mouth, gripping it with her teeth as a little 'heh' of laughter escapes, before puckering around it to take a puff. Her mouth is filled with the thick smoke, which gets expelled in a neat stream as predecessor to her next words. "A good thing his gun is plastic. Makes it easier to digest after I cram it down his throat." The words are said smoothly without much inflection in the tone.

Jeremiah watches the inept gyp head face first into Marcus's chest, and he shifts his weight a little uncomfortably as the urge to remove said face and glue it on backwards bubbles up in his throat. Again, there being no filter between Jeremiah's brain and voice, he says, "Reckon af'er you feed 'im 'is gun I c'n take 'is face off an' glue it on backwards." Needless to say, Jeremiah hates strangers. And Bob was probably lamenting his life at this moment. There wasn't a single one of them under six feet (assuming Kenni's shoes are on) staring down at the sap. Jeremiahs already folded arms somehow tighten, and he looks like he's waiting to see what Bob does.

Carson was embarrassed over the whole thing...sure, they were newbies but that didn't mean that these guys didn't have to talk to him like shit...hell, Carson didn't know that Bob had lied about his skills up until now...he sighed, and he was about to genuinely apologize and even PAY for the troubles. But, nope. Kennedy pulled the lever...broke the lock...broke the safe. The tiger was now loose, and despite wearing very heavy, was advancing at a fast pace...though not near as fast as he wanted. Not at all. Though, the man wasn't far so there wasn't a distance to go. He's now face to face with Kennedy, "What you say, you piece of shit?" He says, his armor plated glove had been fisted and pulled back...and was now bearing down to the man's gut when his other guy grabbed his arm, holding him back.

Well, there it is. The guy comes barreling down at them, and naturally Mark tends to think that assault is going to be directed at him. They usually are. SO maybe that explains why he doesn't bother trying to get between the big armored tank of a man and his wife, Kennedy. Whose vagina Marcus quite likes. In fact, Marcus moves slightly out of the way, smirking as Carson confronts the tall, dark woman next to him. "Well, I said how it ain't no fuckin' wonder the gypsies mostly all got killed, 'cause they're shit." Noddng to the even more massive Jeremiah, Mark grunts, "An' he called you fellas dancin' gorram monkeys." Nodding to the quite tall, but quite slender Kennedy, "And she said she'd feed your boys their fuckin' guns." Realizing that Bob just prevented Carson from striking his wife, Mark's reaction is perhaps a bit unpredictable, a round of booming laughter as he exclaims, "Shit, seriously? You're goin' after her? You pick the fuckin' woman to hit? Oh, brother, let'im go.. this is gonna be fuckin' rich."

The erstwhile baroness pushes the brim of her hat up with the unlit end of her cigar, pulling the shadow off her eyes and revealing the smirk resting on her ruby glossed lips as she looks at Carson squarely, without so much as a flinch on her expression. No, now Kennedy's as amused as Marcus. "Yes, please. Let him go. If he wants to try and punch me, please allow him." The tip of her tongue touches the ridge of her teeth, relishing this. "So that when I flatten him and burn out his eyes with my cigar, it'll be completely warranted." A half step is taken forward, just to give Carson a better opportunity for the first swing.

Jeremiah is fairly certain that between the three of them standing there the one with the va-jay-jay was likely the last one to mess with, albeit messing with her va-jay-jay was probably the first thing on at least two of the five people present's mind. Some say it's made of gold. Anyway. Jeremiah doesn't respond as Marcus pretty much sums it all up, he just lifts a chin and makes himself a clear target in case the instigator Carson had a second target in mind.

The other unnamed dude holding Carson from flattening Kennedy was in his right maybe. Then he looks to Marcus who seems to want to be next in line of pushing more of the wrong buttons. "You better watch your mouth because if you piss this guy off behind me you'll have two tanks on your happy ass. I fought and bled for the Romani...but who knows where the Commonwealth might decide to nuke next," he says, glaring at Marcus and now Kennedy.

Marcus can only laugh as Carson backs down from the big man's wife, only to turn towards him. "Can you believe this mother fucker?" he asks of Jeremiah and Kennedy, shaking his head as he looks back to the shorter fellow. "The pirates didn't ruttin' nuke you fuckers. They beat y'down ol' fashioned, mate. Came to your house, got outta their gorram ships, and gave y'all a right fuckin' ass-whippin. And y'keep it up, you're gonna have 'nother. Y'all got gotta thing for bitin' off moren' you can handle, don'cha?" Looking between the big men standing behind Carson, Marcus.. Himself a man of considerable size, only laughs again, "Turn tail, y'fucks. Learn when y'ought not t'fight."

Valentina steps off the shuttle, and looks around the spaceport, and sighs. She notices the group chatting, and hears a pro-pirate rant. Or that's what the part she hear seemed like. "Hello?" she says, walking up to the group.

"I'm sorry, didn't you hear me? Or can't you understand English unless it's spoken with a fiddle and tambourine playing in the background? If you have a problem with me or my friends, then let the little pissed off one go and throw his punch. Because your bravado doesn't impress me, I'm not quaking in my boots, and there is no piss in my pants. Let him throw his punch, or the merry band of you can move along. Unless you want me to point out to the authorities that you approached my friend on some sloppy training exercise, without getting proper permits. Without getting our consent or asking us to sign a waiver. Come along, make up your mind. I have no beef with you besides some poor decisions made by you lot. So what's one more." Kennedy merely tucks the cigar back between her lips, the quirk of her eyebrow matching the jaunty angle of her trilby as she waits for the decision of the group from the Bengalo.

Jeremiah grins at Marcus behind Kennedy as she goes about refreshing his memory as to the content of her character, and he can't help but snicker as he says, "Jus' like ol' times wit' you folk." He looks back towards the Gypsies and puts his game face back on, which on Jeremiah's old leathery face looks all the more severe.

Heading south, because this is the planet you happen to live on and there was something that caught your eye last time you were downtown. This is all the reason Carmichael seems to need, to be taking a leisurely stroll... followed at some distance by a hover-trans... for being in the area. Ships catch the man's attention more than people; familiar ones drawing the eye away from the road from a to b, which is what makes him spot a trilby, seemingly aggressive activities and two very large men. Oh and the authorities. He pauses in his stroll, to light a smoke at some distance and just... watch.

Carson glares at Marcus, "You think it's cool to make fun of a thousand people who lost their lives?" He says, and yes, the man behind, Scott, may not be mad, but he does release Carson, because he dislikes people like this. "Assholes with mouth like yours starts wars. Men like me fight them for the assholes who started the damn war, and with you starting the war, I'm just here to fight the war," he says. He doesn't barrel into Marcus, no, although with his armor he could easily crack a skull, instead he goes for the very real Desert Eagle holstered on his hip, but not pulling it, "Watch how you talk, and a .50 caliber round won't give you a new eating hole," he says, and motions for his men, which seem to head off to the ship, and he leaves for somewhere distant. Yes, he purposely ignores Kennedy, because she just wanted to fight, and Carson didn't really want to fight up until the piss match and Carson, yes, surprisingly, decided to hold a fist fight on a core world...a little training excercise dealing with ship security with orange plastic guns seems to piss people off, these days.

"Seriously. You're fuckin' threatenin' to shoot me?" Again, with the laughter, Marcus rumbling, "Buddy, what happened on your little piece o' shit planet wasn't a fuckin' war. I fought a war. Which is maybe where I learned th edifference between folks who're all gorram talk an' those who ain't. Those who ain't.. They fuckin' do shit, not threaten to punch somebody an' then reach for a gorram gun.. Fuckin' fifty cal. Yeah. We're on a gorram core world, y'dumb shit." Mark can't help but notice, as Valentina approaches and greets them so nicely, that there is indeed a federal officer right there. Likely why he adds, "Do you even have a fuckin' permit for that thing?"

Valentina looks at the setruing and posturing, and gets a hardened look on her face. She's not sure if this is going to go badly, but she needs to be ready for it if it does. She unsnaps her holster, and looks around, trying for a "command presence". "What's going on here?" she asks sternly. She looks at Carson heading out, and can feel the tension in the atmosphere. "Permits would be a good thing right now, yes. And IDs, please" She doesn't rest a hand on her stunner, but it hovers nearby. "Constable Valentina Korsky-Rimsakov, DAS. Please no one leave the area"

Kennedy's teeth sink into her bottom lip, restraining a laugh that threatens to gurgle out of her throat. Her thumbs skim along the elastic of her suspenders before she turns back to Marcus and Jeremiah. "Do people say that 'eating hole'. I wonder if one day he'll wake up, realize who he was talking to, and make a big mess of his bed out of his 'shitting hole'." The trilby hatted woman spies Valentina, and it only takes a quick sweep of her gaze to register the woman or at least the uniform she wears. "Hello, good evening. This is happenstance really, as I was going to come down to the nearest outpost and make a report. Decided there weren't any charges to press unless being yellow-bellied is a crime." Kennedy looks over her shoulder further down the spaceport., slipping out her ID to flash it in the direction of Valentina. "But everything seems to be just fine now, hmm? If you need anything from me, or my friends here, I'll be staying at Bubastis. I'll be happy to answer your questions over tea. With my attorney present, of course. Gentlemen. Shall we? Thank you again ma'am. Your presence is always appreciated."

Carmichael arches an eyebrow as the situation escalates, waving to the hover that's following to go park on the curb somewhere, "Incoming Sinclairs, please take them back to the estate..." is instructed to the driver, sauntering closer as the group departs. It's possible he's doing so, out of a sense of trying to be of some assistance, possibly for other motivations.

Marcus notably does not flash his ID. He also doesn't show any permit, but then, he's not at all obviously armed. No, he just gives a toothy smile, and turns to fall in behind Kennedy, with nothing more to say on the matter of the strange angry men and their orange guns.

Jeremiah's instinct in the presence of the Alliance is to bash her head in and run for the nearest safe house, but Kennedy's altruism reminds him of how far he's come from there, and he clears his throat proudly. He looks to see what Marcus is doing and unless he tries to stay behind, Jeremiah would wander off behind the two of them. He sides up to the two of them and utters, "C'n I crash with y'all? Reckon I missed m'meetin' up wit' Judith's feller an' I ain' got a clue where t'go 'ere..."

"We'll put y'up." Marcus mutters to Jeremiah, leading the small trio to the car. Well, not really small. At least two of them are huge. Mark directs Jeremiah to the passenger seat, holding open the rear door while Kennedy slides in. He follows, and then.. they're off. And thanks for playing.

And it just so happens that his path lead straight to someone dressed in an Alliance Security uniform. He has tuned out those behind him by now, though he does catch the words from the DAS Officer from his tuning. He pulls out his ID and shows it to Valentina, "Simple, was running a very small training exercise with our orange plastic guns..." There is a plastic gun hanging to his side...it may be an airsoft gun painted orange...but who knows until one pulls the trigger...it is obviously fake as the clip is obviously molded into the frame. The other two guys seem to not have heard the DAS, and already entered the vessel. "And then one of my guys mistakes a question as an order to charge one of them, and then these guys makes fun of the thousands that died on Paquin...including Alliance officers, if I'm not mistaken." He stays put like the DAS offered...or ordered. Carson couldn't make heads or tails. He looked to Marcus, and just happened to flash his ID to him too cause he asked. He is obviously still angry, though he takes off his helmet that covers his head.

Valentina notes down the ID's she's shown, and particulars of descriptions of all the others, making sure she gets it while it's fresh in her mind. "Well, looks like a good command presence really does work. Have to tell the Duty Sgt. next time I see him" She grins, and silently regrets leaving her PDA behind or she'd get vids. She stays where she is, and alert. Orange guns don't mean they don't shoot. She learned that in boot. "Thank you for your cooperation" She says to Carson. "We don't get it sometimes, and we do note down when it is provided. And yes, I heard the mocking of the valiant defenders of Paquin. Of which I was one. Were I off duty, then they'd experience my attitudes, but on duty, I am officially neutral." She glares at the departing gyppos. And if looks could kill, those are .44 magnum stares.

Carmichael draws closer to the officer, the activities that have now mostly ceased and of course... mister Carson. He does albeit, watch the trilby trio heading off to the hover, watches it take off. And very shortly, do a swingback at higher altitude, toward downtown. Smiling to himself, he looks back at each, with a polite head incline. "Mister Jack Carson, again with the DAC. I think you're flirting with them secretly," is noted when close enough, deep voice amused, scottish brogue rather pronounced with it. His eyes settle on Valentina though, a woman he's yet to meet from that side of law enforcement. "Constable," nod.

Carson nods to Valentina, well...guess official appearance is good to some extent," he says with a shrug, and then he looks to Carmichael, and bows. Not normally the one to do such formalities, but...he figured he may have done things that look bad on them...the Draba. "Not entirely...maybe just a little, Grace," he says, using the term he has heard others use for him.

Valentina chuckles, and shakes her head. "Not flirting. He's in an ongoing relationship" she says, with a rueful grin. She rebuttons her holster, and ramps down from "high alert". She nods to Carmachael, and grins. "Please, a name, perhaps? I'd rather not yell out "hey you!"

"One of these days, I'll be able to persuade Brother Korben not to use that term, and others that have gotten accustomed to it," Carmichael notes toward Carson, a wry look of amusement on his face. He glances up at the Draba, back down to the man that seems to have a knack for the 'watchful eye' and waves a hand slightly to negate the necessity for bows. "Sometimes, what seems like a good idea at the time, turns out to have a whole heap of unforseen consequences. Strikes me, mister Carson, that you've got a slight impulse control problem, eh? I'm reticent to say knack for finding trouble, but..." and he looks then to the officer, something in his bearing screaming 'toffeenosed' to some, 'aristocratic' to others. "Lord Damian Carmichael, former duke of Osiris.

Carson :nods. "Maybe me true, Lord Carmichael...but my Captain lost most of her family on Paquin, and I don't appreciate others making fun of that fact...people like that need a hanging," he says with a smirk. "Besides...I'd say people pro-pirate are borderline treason, aye? Or maybe even conspirate with them," he shrugs, "But that's just me," he looks to the two, "Yeah...maybe I bring in a little more trouble then it's worth, but, a Browncoat aint a Browncoat if he don't fight for what is right," he shrugs...of course, what is right could mean different things to different people. "Now...got some business to take care of...if you two don't mind?" He says with a polite smile.

Valentina says in English, "I don't mind at all, really. I was just on my way to do some shopping. Need a new pda, it seems."

Violet steps off the shuttle, wearing something truly bizarre. I mean... _truly_ off the wall. Like, _crazy_. Someone caught the grubby little mechanic, _bathed_ her, somehow, and shoved her into a... a... is that a _dress_?? well, whatever it is, she looks a bit self-conscious in it, as she steps down off the shuttle platform. At least her little feet are still clad in nice, heavy, steel-toed work boots, but her hair is down around her shoulders... she looks almost... _twenty_. She looks around the space port, a little wide-eyed, and spots a familiar face, and her own lightens, slightly. Although, otherwise, the puffy circles and red rims around her eyes make her a rather dubious character. She heads towards Carmichael. "Hi, Dr. Duke." she calls out, tentatively.

Carmichael looks at Carson critically for a few moments after what he's just said, looking back the way 'the trio' went and narrows his eyes a little bit. There's a soft sniff, then he's gesturing vaguely in that direction again. "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction -- and for every effect, there's a cause. There's a lot of people that don't like the way the gypsies behave with people; myself included. And a lot of the time in the past, the gypsies have provoked attacks against them, either verbal, or social, or political. No other genetic group in the 'verse is so actively reluctant to move into the twenty fifth century and evolve beyond the traditions that made them what they are... and the histories of persecution tend to get championed each and every time that they feel that they're being oppressed somehow. They've gone to task against me, before... and been slapped down." This is said with a little shrug and a replacement of his spent cigarette with a fresh one as he looks back. "One of the three that walked away from here, lost every single living member of their family when the alliance bombed Shadow in the unification war. That's a little more than a few relatives and decidedly more than a thousand. It desensitizes a person, particularly when people still stand up and snarl for one place and barely whisper about another. I don't think the individual mentioned, much likes it when people make a big deal over one thing, without knowing what a body can hide, because it hurts too much. Not the only survivor of shadow I know, either.... but it bares thinking about, hmm? Do take care..."

       The hail of an odd nomiker, causes the man to turn and take a doubletake moment at the approaching Violet. "Good god, she's got legs." Comically intoned.

Carson seems to take in what Carm has just said, and yes, maybe he is considering that, but he doesn't necessarily agree, and though he doesn't speak it, he's thinking it. The Romani are who they are, and maybe they provoke stuff, but, that's just who they are...but that doesn't mean that just because someone loses a whole family means they have to make accuse another for rightly losing theirs. He watched many die on Paquin...not as a child, not as a baby, but as a grown veteran of the Unification War, that seen whole freight ships full of civilians get blown up by the Alliance...and what's worse, people getting raped and tortured by the very reavers he has shot at. He seems to huff back onto his ship as he gets agitated again.