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| A Budding Rose - Rosin Dubh; Rosin Dubh - finding a crew | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 8 2012, 08:01 AM (5,821 Views) | |
| Limerickcot | Dec 8 2012, 08:01 AM Post #1 |
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Calm Berserker
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A Budding Rose [/i]
The port yard was comprised of vast slabs of concrete and the air shimmered here and there, radiating accumulated heat, even in the chill breeze that showed that winter time on this hemisphere of the planet wasn’t that far away. Away in the distance another rising scream, followed by a varying pitch, indicated more in-planet ‘birds or ships taking off, either for other destinations around the globe or, and far more silently, for another moon or system. The far-off Terminal buildings glimmered in the bright, early morning sunlight as Regan made his way to the offices that huddled closer to the maintenance sheds and bays. Unlike the plush terminals that served as the planets gateway to the rest of the ‘verse, Athens ‘Acropolis’ Interplanetary Starport’s utility services showed the wear and tear of neglect and costs cut back during the wartime years and not yet restored to any kind of splendour. On the outside at least. As Regan opened the doorway marked Alliance Registration Agency, he found out that the federal agency at least put a professional look to the interior of their offices as a must. Good carpet, plush seating, plants and air conditioning. He walked up to the counter and spoke as the receptionist looked at him, waiting. “Ralph Larsen. I have an appointment at 9.00am.” The receptionist nodded, typed into their computer and nodded sagely. “Yes. Can I see your ID please, Mr Larsen?” he asked calmly, reaching out for the ID that Regan passed him. Regan had no issues with this. His ID was valid, verified and even, technically legal according to the man he’d dealt with. Regan was, to all intents and purposes, legally Ralph Larsen, and so he would remain – for the moment. It also helped that there were another three Ralph Larsens’ with masters licences in the ‘verse. Now there were four. The receptionist held the ID under a scanner. And Regan swallowed a little as the machine flashed as it copied the ID and sent its results both to the receptionist and the local marshal station in the airport’s main building. “Yess. Mr Larsen, formally Mr Regan. Your security check is valid Mr Larsen. And your revised documents have also arrived. The inspector will see you now.” The receptionist pointed. “Down the hallway, office number five. Have a good day.” “Thank you.” Regan sang out clearly. His stint in the marines had taught him the power of low class to delay and cause problems. Being courteous could get you a long way. As the receptionist buzzed him into the interior of the building, Regan wondered again how the heck everything since the war had got so full of redtape. It seemed worse each year. He knocked on the office door, and it was opened by a young woman in a dress suit. “Good morning, Mr Larsen.” She stood and offered her hand. Regan accepted it and shook briefly and sat down as she waved him to a chair in front of her desk. She moved to a cupboard, opened it up and brought a large box file to the desk before sitting down. “My name is Elise Pauli, superintendant for ARA. As you know, the press has been hounding various governments, both Alliance and local, for better regulation of shipping, following several accidents in the last few years. Most of those have been put down to a combination of factors, all of which have to be remedied before a ship can lift nowadays.” With such a speech Regan’s heart started thudding with the thought that he had just spent well over 50,000 credits with nothing to show. Or had, after all, bought a boondoggle of a ship. She opened the box file and started bringing out various files and forms. “Now then, first of all.” She started handing him forms, together with a pen and a receipt book. “Please sign to say that you have accepted your official copies, Mr Larsen.” Elise passed him the first form. “Space Worthiness Certificate, validated; ARA registration form, validated and dated, Cargo Regulations hard copy and disk – you need to double check that carefully Mr Larsen as the regulations for carrying toxics, biological’s and radioactive’s are punitive.” She rooted through the box for more and pulled out a new leather document wallet. “Ah, here we are. Traders Guild licence, paid for and up to date. Salvage permit for Yellow Sun system only. Legal and docking fees guide.” She looked up. “I note that your registered address is the Traders Guild building at Eavesdown docks. All reminder and other notices will be served on that address and will be taken as being served on you at that address. It’s your responsibility to ensure that all notices are forwarded to you or dealt with by your representatives there. So.” Elise took the receipt book, checked all the signatures’ and scribbled away herself. She stood up and smiled and reached out her hand again. “It’s a pleasure to have been of assistance, Captain Larsen.” She emphasised the captain. “You’re able to lift at the first opportunity, dependant on your filling your minimum crew positions. That’s pilot, co-pilot and engineer. If you take more than that then you need someone with a basic medics licence. Port fees are waived for the next ten days. After that you’ll be charged a whacking 50 credits per day. We can post advertisements for you, as can the Traders Guild and the Merchant Crewmens Association here at Acropolis.” She smiled broadly. “Once you have them, wave us the details and then we’ll take the Rosin Dubh off lockdown.” Regan had been a bit stunned by all of the paperwork. He’d known that the dealer had said he could take of it all, but he had thought he’d had to spend days filling in all the paperwork and yet here it all was, sitting in his hands. He stood up slowly. But the fact that the ship was on lockdown hadn't even occured to him. It sent a small chill through his spine and he thought to control himself. “Thank you, superindendant. It’s been a real pleasure dealing with you today.” “You’re perfectly welcome, Captain.” Elise replied. “It’s a pleasure to have something go as smoothly as this.” She paused slightly. “One day, I would like to be able to address you by your real name, Captain. And if I find anyone who might want to ship along with you, I’ll given them your name.” Regan didn’t reply immediately but just nodded, muttered a thank you and walked out of the door. ‘Captain.’ He was a Captain. And then the thought chilled him as he found the nearest secure banking terminal. Yes he was a Captain. But one who only had a limited number of credits. Credits that would be eaten up fast if he stayed grounded here. He needed a crew. Edited by Limerickcot, Dec 8 2012, 08:01 AM.
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| Varulven | Dec 8 2012, 10:37 AM Post #2 |
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Mudder
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Regan leaned on the wall a few yards away from the terminal and mentally took stock. C4100. A month ago that would have been a massive amount of money. Enough to let him live like the King of Londinium for a year or so... Now he was just hoping to get off planet before it ran out... No... Before Trevellyn's men found him.... So far he'd only got from moon to planet. He really needed to get some space behind him. Maybe get out to the Rim and disappear for a while. Buying the ship as Larsen would help for a time. By the time anyone made the connection over the name change on his documents, he should be well away from Athens. Hopefully.... He shook his head, trying to clear the mild buzzing that had been plaguing him ever since that Doc had pumped him full of painkillers the night before. They seemed to be dissipating now, but as the buzzing eased the pain came slowly back. A dull ache at first, but now it was starting to hurt. He grimaced. He'd been shot before, no big deal. The bullet was out. He was walking. He'd live. He looked across the spaceport to the Traveller sitting on dock 5. A stubby little ship, solid and reliable but by no means pretty. An ugly duckling amongst the swans. Already a crew was working on her, fitting the upgrades he'd bought to add to the basic vessel, and a painter, standing on a precarious looking scaffold, was painting her new insignia over the old one. The corner of a white rectangle, and part of a black rose, were slowly spreading out, part of her old name already obscured. -lliam H Bonney. Gorramnest name for a ship! "Yeah, I'll live...." On the far side of the field was a bar. He couldn't make out it's name from where he stood, but it was as good a place as any to set up shop. He headed over..... Walking in, he made his way towards the far end of the bar, where he could stand with no-one behind him and still see both doors. As he passed a pillar in the middle of the room he had to step slightly aside to let a tall man with a pony tail get by. The man brushed past, and Regan swung around, grabbing his wrist and turning it up his back, the other hand wrapping itself in the pony tail before smashing his face once into the pillar. Pony tail fell to the floor, oozing blood and snot, and Regan retreived his coin purse from the stricken man's hand before turning and heading on to the bar. The room was deathly silent for a moment, then the noise resumed, as people realised the show was over and nobody was going to get shot. A couple of people eyed the newcomer carefully, but Regan couldnt spot any attempts to record his image or send a message. 'Course, that didn't necessarily mean nobody had.... So much for keeping a low profile... he thought. He found his spot, took out his communicator and logged in, raising his eyebrows in surprise. There were already messages waiting for him, crew applications..... |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| MacTrom | Dec 8 2012, 12:53 PM Post #3 |
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Harbormaster
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Monte sat at a table, his hands wrapped around the large mug. His thirst was finally quenched, but there was still a half liter in the tall container. A low grumble echoed up from his midsection in complaint to the lack of substance to absorb the alcoholic content of his brew, and he looked up to try to catch the waitress' eye. He figured he still had enough coin to buy a fair meal. A job would be nice as well. That last one ended rather abrupt. He snorted just as the young lady turned toward him, nodding in response to his wave. Just then, there was a commotion toward the front and some dude got slammed into one of the support pillars. For a brief moment, the conversations stop dead. Then as if with a wink of an eye, the murmurs started up again. Monte pulled his coin purse out of his vest pocket and shook out a few of the remaining coins, pushing them around on the table to figure out the available value. As the waitress arrived, he looked up and grinned sheepishly, his hair framing his dark eyes. "Guess I can have a bowl of stew. Got anything other than horse?" She smiled back and jotted it down on her tablet before turning back to the bar to place his order. Setting aside his mug, he pulled out his cortex tablet and ran a search for newly listed jobs. Sure enough, there was a newly registered ship posting for crew. He took a moment to pull up his resume' and send it over. Maybe today would turn out profitable after all. >>>> Transmit <<<< Name: Monte Furlong License: Certified Spacecraft Mechanic Experience: .... Monte watches as his list of previous jobs scroll over the screen. His contacts and referrals follow and finally the tag line indicating successful transmission sent. He sighs and sits back as the waitress brings a deep bowl filled with bits of potato, carrots and meat in a thick gray gravy. Edited by MacTrom, Dec 8 2012, 01:16 PM.
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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |
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| Varulven | Dec 8 2012, 10:02 PM Post #4 |
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Mudder
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Regan glanced around the room. All seemed relatively quiet for a Spaceport bar. A couple of tables away, a guy was tucking into a bowl of stew, and from his enthusiasm either it was a very good stew or he hadn't eaten much lately. Probably a bit of both. Regan gave him the once over. Early thirties, a bit 'bookish' maybe, but there was a sign of serious hardware under his shoulders. His hair was long, and hanging down over his forehead. Regan smiled, remembering his basic training. "Am I hurting you, laddie?" "No Drill Sargeant?" "I ought to be, because I'M STANDING ON YOUR HAIR!!!" A rumble from the area of his belt reminded him it was nearly lunchtime, and he'd been too busy for breakfast. He rapped his knuckles on the bar, to attract the barman's attention. "What's the stew like?" The barman shrugged and scratched his ear. "Won't kill you!" "Ok, I'll have a bowl. Some bread. And a beer..." Food ordered, he turned his attention back to the screen in front of him, and saw a new message arrive. Ok, he thought, I'll start with that one. He clicked on it. Monte Furlong, Mechanic..... |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| Varulven | Dec 8 2012, 11:57 PM Post #5 |
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Mudder
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Ok, he thought, reading the resume, interesting set of skills... Still, you can't judge a man from a screen.... He hit the reply button, and typed the coordinates of the bar. Captain Larsen. Southwest corner, red whiskers, brown jacket, panama hat. Now. He hit send, snicked the safety off his pistol, (just in case,) and set to his stew.... Edited by Varulven, Dec 9 2012, 12:35 AM.
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| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| ribsource | Dec 9 2012, 04:46 AM Post #6 |
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Sarge
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Blaine walked through the Wolfsbane. A ship that he had used for his bounty hunting gigs for the past two years. Blaine had picked up jobs here and there, picking up a new crew every time. Blaine didn't want to get to know people, so by having a rolling crew which he hired on a job by job basis was perfect for him. Plus he had his own ship, and was the master of his own destiny. It was a cushy gig. But after the last job, the ship was beyond repair, it cost more to fix the boat than it was worth, so he made the unenviable decision to sell it for scrap. As he walked through the little Morgan class ship, well more of a long range shuttle, he remembered the times he had in it. Good times for the most part. The jobs he had done, raiding an Alliance boat for weaponry, saving a town from the local despot. The images went trough his head, and he felt nostalgic, something he rarely felt. In the past years since he had become Blaine Blair, the ship had been the one constant in his life, and he would miss it. Blaine walked out of the shipyard with what cred he had been paid for it. With him he carried his belongings. A case of surveillance equipment and a bag full of guns. Blaine only really carried what was needed, he had little time for trinkets and memories and such. Taking a final look back at the ship, he turned back around and walked away from it. Walking into the bar nearest the shipyard, he walked in. Inside he saw numerous people, some eating some drinking, as he walked through his old Alliance training kicked in, and he was already scouting for the best exit strategies, weaknesses of the people around him. He set himself down, it wasn't the perfect spot for escape and detection, someone else had already picked that spot. But it would do. Blaine ordered a fire whiskey from the waitress as she came and took his order. Blaine then pulled out his PDA, scouring the Cortex, for a job. Blaine didn't plan on staying on board a ship for long, he didn't work well with others, and would probably just work on a job by job basis, but he needed a job, he needed some cred, he wanted to be the master of his own destiny again, and that would mean, having to buy another ship of his own, and for that, he would need credit. Best way, take a job and get paid. Finding a guy looking for a job on the rock, he sent out a wave to the man >>>> Transmit <<<< Name: Blaine Blair Experience: Jack of All Trades - Master of None Blaine wasn't 'selling' himself good, but it seemed like it was a new ship, with new crew, so having many skills, he could take any number of jobs on board, versatility was the key in the job market. Edited by ribsource, Dec 9 2012, 04:48 AM.
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Remy Rokash ~ Companion ~ inactive Blaine Blair ~ Bounty Hunter | |
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| MacTrom | Dec 9 2012, 07:52 AM Post #7 |
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Harbormaster
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Monte heard the chime of his Cortex tablet as he wiped the thin gruel off his chin. He dug it back out and checked his incoming messages.
Monte looked up and glanced around the bar, spotting the man with the panama hat sitting a short distance away. He glanced down at what was left of his lunch and pushed the near empty bowl to one side. Picking up his mug, he sloshed down the remainder before sliding his chair back and snagging his backpack. He stood and making eye contact with his, hopefully, new employer, headed that direction. Arriving at the other man's table, he smiled. "Howdy. Name's Monte Furlong. You got my resume', I take it? Lookin' for a handy mech to crew on your ship?" |
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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |
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| Varulven | Dec 9 2012, 10:41 AM Post #8 |
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Mudder
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As Regan finished his stew the couple at the table next to him got up and left. He waited for the waitress to shift the empties and wipe the tabletop then moved quickly over and sat down. He scrolled through a couple more applications, deleted them, then stopped at what must have been the shortest application he'd ever seen. "Jack of all trades - Master of none." He grinned to himself, he'd pretty much been doing that job himself since the war.... Fine, he'd need a resourceful man of no specific talent! He sent the same message as he had to Furlong The next application nearly made him choke on his beer.... Ethan was on Athens. Best Gorram combat pilot he'd ever flown with, guy had kept Regan's squad alive more than once by ignoring the rule book and doing things that by rights should have killed them! Message sent.... A movement caught his eye. The guy with the stew had finished, and was getting up to leave. But then he turned, smiled at Regan and started over. Regan put the handheld down onto the table, put his right elbow on the arm of the chair and casually let his hand drop onto the grip of his pistol, covering the movement by fishing a cigar out of his top jacket pocket and jamming it between his teeth.
Regan looked hard into the man's eyes for a few seconds without speaking. Looking for a sign, something to tell him he should kick this guy into touch. Furlong seemed pretty straight. Worth a chance... Regan waved to the chair to his left, and with his right hand, now clear of the gun, pulled out a match and lit the stogie.... "Take a seat, son. You ever worked on a Traveller?" |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| MacTrom | Dec 9 2012, 12:35 PM Post #9 |
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Harbormaster
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Monte titled his head slightly, as if in thought. "Can't say that I have, although I have served on Fireflys and Jo Lynns and they're similar small transports with their own particulars where it comes to keepin' 'em flyin'. " He slided the adjacent chair out and settled in. "How'd you find the stew here? Thought it could use a mite more kick, personally." |
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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |
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| Varulven | Dec 9 2012, 05:17 PM Post #10 |
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Mudder
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Regan gave a good natured grimace. "Throwing a grenade in the kitchen might help.... I prefer a mite more meat with my gristle usually, though it's a lot better than protein substitutes." He glanced through the resume once more. "Well, if you can do half of what it says on here, you're pretty good. Here's the deal. Keep 'er flying, don't give me no nasty surprises if you can help it, whatever we make you get ten per cent off the top." He gave Furlong a pointed look. I believe in giving any man a fair chance in life, but I'm going out there to make a living, and anybody we come across plans to interfere with that, I intend to object. Vehemently. If you're comfortable with that, she's called the Roisin Dubh. She's on dock 5, get your gear aboard and pick a cabin. Not the double. That's mine." Regan held out his hand and grinned. "Welcome aboard, Monte!" |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| ribsource | Dec 10 2012, 04:24 AM Post #11 |
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Sarge
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The Waitress came back with his drink. Blaine looked around the room. Taking in his surroundings. Eventually the Waitress came back with his drink. Blaine nodded at her as she placed it down, took the drink, gulped it in one, and gave it back to her with some cred. His PDA went off and he checked it, looking around he saw the man with whiskers. Larsen. It was the guy who was in the corner he would have picked as the best point to watch the rest of the bar. Either Larsen had some kind of training, or maybe it was the only place that was free when he arrived. It certainly was a coincidence that they were in the same bar, but then again, it was Athens and a shipyard, so it made sense. Blaine got up, picked up his numerous cases, and walked over to Larsen who was with another man. Maybe another new crew member. Blaine wasn't a guy to mince his words, or wait for people to finish conversations, he was straight to the point. Putting his cases down "Mr Larsen, Blaine Blair" he stated simply. Edited by ribsource, Dec 10 2012, 11:28 AM.
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Remy Rokash ~ Companion ~ inactive Blaine Blair ~ Bounty Hunter | |
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| Varulven | Dec 10 2012, 05:11 AM Post #12 |
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Mudder
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Regan was uploading Furlong's credentials to the Registration Agency file on Roisin Dubh when Blair approached. He sized up the big man with a glance. Ex military. Hard man. Regan figured he would be a master of several trades if he needed to be, and none of them pretty. Not much of a talker? Fair enough, charm wasn't in the job description, so it's all shiny. "Ok Blair, let's get one thing straight. I spent twenty years dragging grunts like you 'round battlefields all over the 'verse. So, I know you, whoever you are. Follow orders and you get 10% off the top, and the chance to ply several of those trades you're not master of. Screw with me, and I toss your corpse out the airlock. Dong Le Ma?" This time he'd left the pistol alone... He figured Blair for a professional, unlikely to throw down in a crowded bar without good reason. If he'd figured wrong, this would be a short interview.... |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| ribsource | Dec 10 2012, 05:32 AM Post #13 |
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Sarge
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Blaine watched Larsen as he talked. Larsen wasn't going for his gun anytime soon, but seemed to have Blaine figured out. Must mean that he and Blaine had done similar things in the Alliance. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Blaine didn't want to get found out, but there was no other way off this rock in the near future. So it was looking like Blaine would only be on this ship till after the first job, then he would move on. "As long as I'm paid, I'm good" Blaine said simply Blaine slowly pulled out the chair, and sat down, Blaine kept his eyes on Larsen. It wasn't that he didn't trust Larsen, it's just that he couldn't trust him. Larsen could be the one person in the first time in a long while, that could figure out his secret. Edited by ribsource, Dec 10 2012, 11:29 AM.
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Remy Rokash ~ Companion ~ inactive Blaine Blair ~ Bounty Hunter | |
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| MacTrom | Dec 10 2012, 05:40 AM Post #14 |
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Harbormaster
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Monte raised his eyebrow as the other man came over, but left it to Laursen to handle it. After introductions were made, he pipped up. "Roisin Dubh? Ah, a bit of the Ol' Sod. Erin go bragh, I say. " Monte took a moment to consider, and the looked at Laursen. "So, when you say you're lookin' t' make a profit, are the limits to the jobs we might be takin'? 'Cause sometimes those that pay well come with their own expenses. " |
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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |
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| Varulven | Dec 10 2012, 05:43 AM Post #15 |
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Mudder
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Regan leaned over and spoke quietly to Blaine.. "And just so we're clear, what you were, don't matter to me. What you are, does. The rest is just war stories, and we all know they don't count.... He winked, and signalled the waitress to bring a round. |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| Varulven | Dec 10 2012, 05:53 AM Post #16 |
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Mudder
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The Captain laughed. "Well, Regan ain't a Chinese name, that's for sure.... Roisin Dubh is Gaelic for Black Rose. I knew a pretty little thing once with a tattoo on her.. Well, I knew a girl... Look, if we can make a good living hauling legitimate cargo, I'll promise you a boring, low risk life and plenty of profit. But we all know the 'verse don't work that way. So let's take each job on merit. I'm not planning on getting anybody killed to fill a purse, ok?" |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| MacTrom | Dec 10 2012, 06:20 AM Post #17 |
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Harbormaster
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Monte laughed as well. "Gaelic is a background language for me. One of my casual pastimes are things from the Exedus. Old languages included. I recognized the Rose from an old diddy my granddad once sang. Something about a state in the old country. " He shrugged. "Any rate. Sounds like a promising career for all of us. Do you have a pilot as well?" |
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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |
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| Varulven | Dec 10 2012, 06:33 AM Post #18 |
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Mudder
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"Hopefully... An old acquaintance just popped up on the 'for hire' list.... I've sent him a wave...." He grinned. "Not sure how he'll react, he's used to flying things a mite sleeker than the old tub I've just bought...." |
| I came into this 'verse kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood. I'm quite prepared to go out exactly the same way..... | |
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| Limerickcot | Dec 10 2012, 07:54 AM Post #19 |
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Calm Berserker
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Even whilst Regan was dining, the cortex saw his recruitment wave ripple throughout the five systems. Although practically everyone outside of the Georgia system would automatically dismiss the recruitment notice outright, various firms and recruitment specialists added yet another name to their lists, just in case the Rosin Dubh ever entered their own areas. It also started an immediate advertising wave burst. Most of the simpler ones were tuned out by Regan’s anti-spam controls. But more than just a few started filtering their ways through his junk wave protections, flashing for immediate attention and slowing down the more legitimate enquiries that were heading his way from all types of people. There were other people out there though....
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| M.Vanity | Dec 10 2012, 10:24 AM Post #20 |
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Reavers Love Slave
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With her head held high and her stride slow and rhythmical, those that passed Isla Cain couldn’t know the anxiety that was contained inside of her. As the sound of her boots beat calmly around the port yard, the beat of her heart was almost painful in her chest. This was it. She was leaving; travelling and entirely independent. She wouldn’t go back now. Having attached wheels to her chest of possessions, a slight hiss filled her ears, quite symphonic with the cadence of her boots. And then silence. She had stopped and it took her brain a second to understand why. She stared at a ship, not the grandest, nor was it trashed. She pulled her brown, shabby coat about her shoulders, covering the emerald green silk underneath. The ship was singing out to her, she knew it, she would board this ship. Her resolve had little outward appearance other than the slight smirk which now graced her lips, with a pirouette she turned; eyeing the bar. There. As she wheeled her chest up to the bar she pulled up next to three rather unusual looking gentlemen; one butch, the other with long hair and the third with very prominent facial hair and an aura of power. She smirked as she leaned over the bar next to him, and pulling her coat about her again she, beckoned the bartender with a single finger, “Excuse me darling, I’m looking for the captain of the beauty in Dock 5…” |
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