5
« on: September 26, 2014, 10:18:25 am »
It's amazing what boredom can do to you. I had way too long of a bus ride halfway across a state, and I started thinking. When I get hit with moments of boredom, I'll continue the story.
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RedRoach: You know, when I last remember telling you "We needed more explosives" I meant explosives, not these tiny little firecrackers.
Merchant: They're high power shells from a mortar than can easily punch through hulls, what more do you-
RedRoach: THESE DAMN THINGS ARE MORTAR SHELLS! I WANT ME SOME GOD DAMNED BOMBS!! STUFF THAT BLOWS DOWN A HOUSE! NOT A SHIP!!
Merchant: Bu-But sir, we don't have those in stock-
RedRoach: Screw it, I'll go dumpster diving. Man, when traders are so unreliable that you can find better stuff in a trash can right next to his stand.
The scavenger twirled around on the tip of his crusted shoe in mock disgust, and left the merchant at a loss for words. As he walked away he looked at all his other potential sellers. Rich folk with men to work for them, all of them idiots who couldn't manage a brawl for their lives, but only for their money. He went over to the nearest bar, to find something to distract him until he could actually get this prank setup properly with some real boom.
RedRoach: *throwing open doors and using a mocking voice* Gooooood day fine gentlemen, I heard there was booze in this establishment and have come to enlighten you in the use of the liquid of life!
Several people in the bar mutter to themselves, the barkeep looks like he's about to pull a revolver from under the table, and a mercenary eyes him warily from the table.
RedRoach: *calmly walking towards table* You see, you need to drink in a most proper manner. A bottle of water please!
Barkeep: You don't need to go to a bar to drink water. That's what the toilet is for. Idiots like you.
RedRoach: Excuse me sir, but in fact it is the sink for which idiots like me drink from. I am simply teaching you how to drink properly!
Barkeep: Forget it. I'm not wasting drinks on you.
RedRoach: You dastardly fiend!
Snickers resonate from everywhere within the bar. It is true in it's own right, what idiot could possibly try to get a drink like that? Snapping out of his faked stupor, RedRoach gets up and walks around the room. He has attracted everyone's attention in the bar, and, unaware, he is the sole focus as he looks at the walls. The scavenger then spies a picture of what appears to be a faded picture of a cavern near several burning airships tacked near a small notice.
RedRoach: *normal voice* What's this beauty of a place? "Remember to send merc crew here to remove traces of involment,"? Where do I go to see that?
Mercenary: That's a job notice, not a postcard. And besides, the job is none of your buisness.
RedRoach: Yeah, the job may be above me, but no payment is below me. What are you doing then, this job?
Mercenary: I'm not allowed to disclose my client's information.
RedRoach: And I'm going to assume your client only pays you about 3 bottles of moonshine, considering you're at a bar.
Mercenary: No, he's paying us in several solid bars of tungsten. Then again, you wouldn't know what those are.
RedRoach: Okay, I don't know what tungsten is. But I do know that it's a particularly stronger metal than say, brass or iron. And that it makes great bullets. And that it's incredibly dense. And that stuff like that could be used to make some nice additions to a revolver. And that-
Mercenary: Fine, you know what it is. But still, the job isn't any of your business.
RedRoach: That is indeed correct. But the place, come on, let me see that place-
Mercenary: *stands up unholstering pistol* You know, you're being way too intrusive for your own good. You need to be taken care of.
RedRoach: *eyeing gun, and trying to identify flaws in it* And you're going to take care of me by renting me a room and some drinks? Possible a new ship?
Mercenary: *raises pistol* You have anything to say before nobody remembers you?
RedRoach: *quickly snapping up his revolver* Chamber your gun first.
Both people pull their triggers. One person is faster than the other, however he's made a mistake that cost him his life. A bullet not chambered is a bullet not fired, and a bullet not fired in a standoff means death. The mercenary falls. The other patrons of the bar, though shocked at the gunfire, slowly settle down again. RedRoach slowly walks out to the bar, and kneels down to his victim, now checking for any pieces of parchment that that signal a location, or at least a gathering. There's nothing of the sort.
RedRoach: For the love of the Dust, you need to have more than just bullets and guns. Wait... mercs mark themselves... where would one mark his profession... please not the lower waist... There!
Shifting leather and the occasional iron plate has found a small mark, a spider surrounded by bones on the grip of his pistol. Standard "Don't mess with me" icons. But at least, that gives identity. Unfortunately, icons depicting "Don't mess with me" are so absurdly common nowadays. People in the hitman industry would be required to actually figure out who hired this guy. Rising from the ground with this new trail, he turns to face the door. Except it's open with a few troops looking at him.
RedRoach: 'sis okay, we just had a small, erm.. *glances at barkeep, who is giving a blank stare* misuderstanding. Not much. He'll... uh he'll live with proper... medical treatment?
Soldier: Good. You're coming with us for now.
RedRoach: Yeah... *feigning knowledge* for you know... what is it called again? Can you remind me what it is? I think i had too many drinks.
Soldier 2: The job? Did you forget it already?
RedRoach: Job? What... *glances down at the pistol in his hands, which STILL has the mercenary insignia on it* Oh, that one. Man, I'm out of it. Wait up guys, I'm coming!
Rushing to join his new "allies", the scavenger takes a glance at the barkeep for the last time. He gives a slight nod of acknowledgement towards his shifty move. The scavenger gives a grin back, then slides back into the light to see where the others are leading him.
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