POOHEAD189

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Markus thumbed the weapon to three round burst fire, shouldering the Daiedron-C87 and sending at least one of the first three rounds into the exposed neck of a fumbling guard. Arterial blood sprayed across the wall, dark and glistening in the light. My next burst struck his partner in the chest, but the body armor stopped it short. The last bullet cracked his helm, but it seemed to have only staggered the man. Then the indicator on the weapon blinked, acknowledging the gas-powered operation was done, and the ion power was now ignited, the chamber now filling with APR's. His next burst of bullets went straight through the staggered man's armor like nails through soft wood, ending his life, hot brass hitting the floor.

The next second went by in what felt like a half minute. The doorman, whom Jocasta had punched with the heel of her hand, was recovering a mere meter from Markus' position. His hand was reaching for his sidearm, a scowl on his face, fresh spittle on his chin. Markus dropped his weapon, fully letting go of the compact assault rifle, using the time it fell to grab his secare saber, clearing it of its sheathe in record time. Even as the blade cleared, Markus was already taking one step to the right, realigning the blade to parallel the floor. Movement was waste, he had been taught. Instead of slashing widely, giving the man time to draw and fire his weapon, Markus merely stepped and moved his blade with the slightest bit of pressure, and then stepped back, the heel of his hand against the end of the hilt as he thrust.

The thick blade penetrated the man's armor, sliding out of his back with crimson dripping from the wound. A low thrum of energy reverberated the length of the sword blade, and in one motion he withdrew the blade. The man's weakening hand pulled the trigger on his hastily drawn pistol, the 9mm firing a single shot into the wall before he collapsed. On camera it happened impressively quick, but to Markus, the information processed at a pace he found adequate enough to get the job done.

Jocasta fired two rounds into the man on the wings, closest to Markus. He had just turned to aim down his sights at the unkempt merc, only for his arm to get hit by one of the rounds. Blood splotched onto the floor, but it was the least of the guard's concerns. The same arm was removed a single moment later from a quick slice of the sword. The arm fell to the floor, still clutching the submachine gun with its nerveless fingers. Markus saw the last man hesitating, and Markus decided not to leave it to chance. Instead of finishing the man he had made into an amputee, he kicked him in the chest to send him hitting the wall, and with Markus' last breath, he left the point of his sword a mere half a foot from the last remaining man's neck.

Suddenly there was silence, save for the coughing and moaning of bleeding men. Markus did not look away from the last remaining guard, who quickly realized he was being given a chance to live. He shakily got to his knees, placing his hands behind his head. Markus nodded at his good sense, and then unceremoniously kicked him across the face. He gasped and fell to the floor, out cold.

After a collection of lingering moments, Markus tore his eyes from the fallen men, watching Jocasta step out of the cover she had shanghaied. "Not bad," he told her, the blade's shimmer ionizing the blood within seconds. He shut the saber off and sheathed it. "Shut the door," he told her. As she went to do that, Markus knelt down next to the man who's arm he had removed, patting the man down for medi-gel. When he couldn't find any, Markus shook his head, sighing. These men were not following standard security regulations. The two of them didn't have time to upend the entire place to find any packs either, and he spent a moment regarding the dying man, who even now was slipping into shock.

"Red God bless you," He breathed, walking over to retrieve his gun, switching it to single shot and ending the man's life with a bullet to the forehead.

"Now what, swordmaster?" His new partner asked, checking the doorman for anything to pawn. Markus reached into his satchel, retrieving a synthetic cleaning solution and a small, albeit thick, towel.

"I'll clean the place up. You get into his suit." He said, indicating the unconscious form of the last guard.

Jocasta began fixing her hair up, a smile on her full lips. "You just love getting me undressed," she joked.

Markus sniffed a laugh. "Maybe after we're done." He replied without looking back, placing the items down on the bench and dragging the bodies into the closet. The convoy would be there in less than an hour, likely reduced in number and bewildered.

DragonBall Z: Dirty Deeds (A Frieza Force RP)

Not sure if I'll have the time, but I support this RP and all like it.

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

Davin was still not quite certain he had found his true mark, but as the moments slipped by, he was growing more confident. She spoke carefully, her eyes moving past him, likely on the street. Whatever she was, she was nervous in some capacity.

A small part of him wondered if he had simply come on too strong, if he was just making her uncomfortable. Women from other nations were less aggressive than he was used to, sometimes women were even considered soft spoken! It was not a wholly odd concept, as every man and woman was different, but it was true in Ebou Dar it was the woman who tended to initiate flirtation. Perhaps this woman was just more demure than he had imagined? He doubted it, but if that was the case, he would certainly feel poorly. Particularly if she was telling the entire truth about her sister.

He gave a chuckle at the horsewater nickname, actually finding it quite amusing. Now it was time to pull his gambit. "I am Davin Baln'ashar, a thief-taker hired by the High Lords of this city to find a very successful thief. You seem like someone who could potentially be them, but I was not sure enough to wait outside and knock you out without being certain."

He took a generous sip of the subpar wine, and then rested his elbow on the table, swirling the remainder of the drink in his hand. Underneath the table, his free hand was steadied under the table, in case he needed to upend it if she pulled out a hidden weapon. "So you have two options, as I see it. Come with me quietly, and explain to me why you are innocent, or why you stole the items if you are not. No doubt for your poor sister, I imagine. Or make a scene in the middle of this quaint shop and knock this horsewater drink everywhere. The Defenders will not go far, even if you somehow evade me. So what shall it be?"

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

Davin smiled widely, hinting at his white teeth. He had thought she was about to leave as she had claimed, already planning on how best to follow her, but her sudden change of mind had caught him off guard. Still, he found it charming.

"Business, or lack thereof." He admitted with a sigh, a cup being placed down just before him not a moment later. He placed a half crown on the table, the attended sliding it into his hands with thanks. Davin sipped the wine, glad it was not quite as bad as horse water, but it was not worth the money, he was certain of that. "I've only been here a season, but work is not hard to find here so I've decided to stay for awhile. It reminds me of home, actually."

At further prompting, he would continue. "I come from Altara. Here in Tear the weather is the same, and the people look somewhat like my own people. I miss them. But the structure is so different, yes? The High Lords. Everyone seems to speak of them, as if they have eyes everywhere. Not so in Ebou Dar. Nobles are noble, but they do not congregate together and form groups to gossip and rule over the entirety of the land like they are Aes Sedai, scheming to dance us all on their strings."

Truthfully, David had no inclination to think he was speaking to one from such a legendary group of women as that. He shrugged his shoulders, regarding her with earnest embarrassment. "My apologies, I don't mean to prattle on with my partiality, but I thought to myself, 'surely she is not a local. Perhaps she might understand.' But ignore me, what brings you to Tear, lady...?"

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Air flung outwards as the interplanetary transport slowly settled down onto the landing pad. The system's star was still in the sky, which complicated things. Markus would rather go in at night, but he reminded himself Mazda was unlike most places, particularly Uralic. The planet was relatively hot compared to earth, either tropical or subtropical temperatures year-round, save for the poles. It was a planet where tourism was huge, for the oceans and the relatively safe but beautiful wildlife. However, varying cities, particularly on the southern continent, were hubs of crime and rampant corruption.

The vehicle had landed ontop of a vast structure of brutalist design, easily twenty stories tall, but still dwarfed by the vast sky scrapers. Above them, air traffic from the city's higher tier employees and the rich buzzed and swerved. The middle class congregated on the streets below, wearing the latest fashion of flashy, colorful jackets and streamline pants, walking over pedestrian walkways as sleek cars zipped by just below. Gangers lounged under bridges or near intersections, but the two mercs had found themselves in the nicer part of the city, which was one other reason the kidnapper's would not see their tactic coming. No one expected an attack at the heart of civilization.

Markus spied the rendezvous across the busy street, a stylish white building with windows that looked like a black streak running up its side. At its base was a large paved square with a statue of the planetary governor's ancestor, standing like Washington on the Delaware. At the top of the building was a collection of sky tethers connected to make an orbital elevator that led to the orbital ten miles above their position.

"Parking deck on the left," Jocasta pointed out, and Markus nodded, having seen it too. The transport behind them lifted off, the man not even giving them a goodbye, clearly wanting to vacate the area as quickly as possible.

As they descended, Markus replied: "We'll need to keep out of the camera's eyes until we get in. Then we'll go to floor 3, lock the doors behind us, take them out and wait."

"I'll handle the cameras." She assured him with a smile. Markus grinned, giving a look that said and I'll take care of the rest.

"If we live, you have to tell me why you chose to be a merc."

"Seeing as you promised me a drink and haven't paid up yet, we'll see."

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

"As impressive as they might find them, your instincts are right. It'll take more than that to get these guys." Markus remarked, unscrewing the barrel from his Daiedron-C87 and quickly field stripping it, removing the upper and lower receivers and replacing the gas-chamber with a small squared compartment that housed the ion-chamber, quickly refitting the weapon back into its previous state. "Luckily, we have a few advantages. But first thing's first, how many jobs have you done before?"

"None," She said with only a hint of embarrassment. If Markus was a different man, he would have cursed. But she had already proven she was audacious if nothing else, and she had some skill no matter what experience she had. He merely gave a nod, his eyes clearly display the thoughts rushing through his mind. He took his hat off and wiped his forehead. Markus had the look of a louche, but he clearly moved like someone born into a world of risk, where violence could pop up just around the corner.

"Ok, let me tell you the three cardinal rules of being a merc. First, don't be a hero. Survival is more important than success, even with a partner. Second, pillage then burn. Money is more important than glory or vengeance. Here" He said, tossing her a comm link. She blinked and grabbed it, before it slipped out of her hands, but impressively she was still quick enough to nab it before it hit the ground.

"And third?" She asked, fastening it to her ear.

Markus gingerly tossed his head, his fringe slipping out of his eyes. "That which doesn't kill you has made a tactical error." He said with a muted grin.

"That's all?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Gods no, but that's the basics. As for our advantages, we have two dozen blunt instruments heading straight for the White Sharks. They'll shoot us as soon as they'll shoot the sharks, but at least we know about them."

"And the other advantage?" She asked as Markus flung his sack over his shoulder, ready to leave the lockers.

"We're going to win." He declared, as simple as that. "Come on, let's go."

Fifteen minutes later, they were in one of the smaller hangers in The God's Eye. Markus had a toothpick in his mouth, scanning the assembled interplanetary vehicles. None of them were commercial vessels of official shuttles, in fact most looked haphazardly built, with bare circuits and pneumatic systems unplated on various parts of their builds. A few lifted up with their repulsors and zipped out of the hanger, but most were being worked on by the local engineers or pilots stood around, heckling one another or arguing with droids about price values of varying parts. One of the pilots looked over at Markus and Jocasta, raising an eyebrow. Markus gestured for him to approach, and after a moment of deliberation, he did.

The man wore an orange jumpsuit, his close cropped blonde hair barely hid the bald pate of his head like loosely situated grass over a well trodden field. He looked to be in his mid-40s, though with medical science and knowing the right people, he could have been twice that. He gave Markus a leveled look, glancing at Jocasta for a few moments, no doubt thinking them lovers. Markus could read the words 'lucky dog' going through his mind. It gave the merc a small smile that no doubt looked a tad dangerous to the man.

"Need something?" He asked, his accent clipped and rough.

"Can you get us to sector 43 of Mazda in two hours?" Markus asked. "I'll pay."

"You mercs?" He asked, and when no answer came forth, he shook his head as if to convince himself, as if 'never again' was stamped on his forehead. "No, sorry, can't help you."

"We're not asking you to fly into danger. Just to touch down in Uralic city and leave." He clarified. Behind him, Jocasta fluttered her lashes at the man. He looked at her, and then back at Markus, and breathed out of his nose.

"Fine." He said, then pointed at Markus with the hand clutching the towel. "But I expect payment up front."

It was a small vessel, barely able to support Markus and Jocasta with all their gear, the two seats cordoned off behind a bulkhead of crimson steel, with a small grater between the cockpit and their seats being the only way to communicate. On the lefthand side of the bulkhead, a small screen that had lain black popped up, and a map of sector 43 of Mazda appeared on the screen. Markus placed a finger on the southern-most location, indicating the port where they needed to land.

"The plan?" Jocasta prompted in a soft voice.

"Even with two dozen mercs, the white sharks are well equipped. They have to be if they grabbed Gallanis' kid. Probably have UNSG military grade equipment. Even two dozen mercs wont take them out, so we need to be close to their rendezvous, and instead we need to go after who they're going to contact and take them out without raising an alarm. But that also means we might be hitting some targets that aren't apart of that group. Private security and maybe a few local enforcer police. Are you comfortable with that, and if you are, when the rest of the sharks arrive, can you convince them you're one of the contacts?"

They would have to kill whatever Sharks remain with the kid, but at that point they would have the element of surprise.

Cogs in the Wheel: WoT RP

"I am certain the High Lady Estanda will understand, dear husband." Alteima said, whipping out her fan and waving it against her heart shaped face. Somehow the air did not rustle her immaculately wrapped up hair, the elaborate bun of dark brown hair tied up, letting only a small stream of her waves to cascade down her shapely shoulder in a fashionable side ponytail. "Time is of the essence, wouldn't you agree?"

Lord Tedosion, a handsome older gentleman with a thick body, looked unconvinced at his wife's rebuttal, but did not push the subject. "Indeed, master thief-taker, your task is of the upmost importance. You came recommended highly, and for that we entrust our search to you."

"As well as the city watch, I imagine." Davin replied, giving a gracious bow to hide his grin. The thief-taker was not unused to being hired for purposes that were not widely accepted throughout the civil government. The Lady Alteima was good, very good in fact. A lovely woman with a full bosom, she had big eyes that betrayed just how clever she was, but he could tell she pushed for this in order to gain higher standing in the circle of High Lords, and her husband going against her would only cause some to question his loyalty. And yet, if they failed and it was found out that he aided in the attempt, they would both be looked upon with some small amount of scorn for not plotting with their fellow lords to being this thief to justice for the good of all. A gamble, but they had made the correct one, however. Davin Baln'ashar was very good at what he did.

"You will be rewarded quiet handsomely, of course." Alteima remarked, giving him a coy smile. Had Davin not been privvy to her machinations, he might have felt a quickening of his heart at her look, but he had his own contacts. Alteima was as cutthroat as they came, which was why her husband had taken Lady Estanda, her rival, as his lover. The money she promised, however, was doubtless very real. He smiled back all the same.

"Worry not, my Lord and Lady. I will return within three days with your quarry in tow." He promised, granting them another courtly bow.

That had been nearly forty hours ago.

In that time, Davin had pulled every stop in his impressive repertoire to pinpoint just exactly who had the gall to infiltrate the Stone of Tear and steal some of its most auspicious items. After threatening or paying off a few witnesses and guards, he had learned the most likely candidate was a woman of ambiguous appearance. Pretty, perhaps beautiful by all accounts, but it was hard to gauge if she was a local or not. Dark hair, inquisitive eyes, an extravagant if plump figure, and not very tall. Most thief-takers would have scoffed at the idea of the culprit being a woman, but Davin was from Ebou Dar, where women dueled over men and the fairer sex was innocent until proven guilty over marital disputes. Women were not to be underestimated, he had received more than a few scars from them.

He now found himself just outside of The Maule, the long stretch of docks that spanned the entirety of Tear's western coast, and it was midday. Davin had taken a lunch, and decided to eat it above an awning in the southern district, within sight of the walls of the inner city. The Fingers of the Dragon were so close, he could smell the pungent humidity from that web of rivers and waterways. It was just as he was about to take the last bite of his trencher that he saw someone step out of Coliers Street and stride into the local wine shop. Davin's sharp eyes peered below as she disappeared from view, and he rolled over the odds and the description of the culprit in his head.

He had theorized that whoever was the thief, they would not have taken to an inn, and he made certain by making sure to know all records of the local inns in the outer city. The inner city was too full of watchmen and too easily watched by the High Lords for her to stay in. Davin was certain they would wait close to the docks, but not too close so as not to arouse suspicion, but with the ships grounded, it was only from some false hope they would keep in that area; an idea of freedom and safety, tantalizing but not entirely rational, unless they got lucky. Perhaps he had found his mark?

One moment, he was above the crowd below, the next he had appeared on the muddied street, doing his best to keep the wet and the dirt from catching him before he stepped into the winery. He spied a few foreigners, but most looked like merchants from Mayene or Illian. The locals were dressed as they usually were, in loose pants and wide hats to keep the rain and mud of the less clean outer city from their hair. But then his eyes fell on the woman that, at least to his observations, stood out. A travel worn but handsome dress, a woman that matched the description he had gathered, and she sat alone. He fixed his hair, the wind doing him a small favor of making his mane look fashionably windswept, but he still smoothed what loose hairs there were before he approached her with a congenial smile.

"Yes, one for me as well." Davin said with a raised finger, telling the attendant before the man had fully turned away. He gave the thief-taker a nod and turned to gather the drink. Without asking permission, Davin sat next to the woman with a casual air, glancing her way as if he had noticed her for the first time.

Davin was a darkly handsome man, not as well-formed as some, but he had a chin that looked sculpted and a sharp, commanding nose. His body was trim and tall, though he was no aielman in that regard. He wore a leather brown jerkin with red trim over a white linen shirt, buttoned with the collar wide and disheveled. He had left his falchion and mace outside, but a long dagger was hidden at the small of his back.

"Ah, forgive me, I hope I am not intruding. May I sit?" He asked, but as if it was the natural flow of the conversation, he spoke before she could answer, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. "The wine here is tastes like a Saldaean's horse water, but it does it's job."

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

The lights dimmed, and an amalgamation of illumination coalesced onto the platform the four faceless guards were protecting, their heavy plasma-guns now pointed toward the crowd who's eyes were now inexorably drawn toward them. A few of the mercs growled, but most seemed content to stay silent, either unintimidated or unwilling to appear so. Out of the back stepped a well dressed man, looking as if he were in the upper echelons of middle age, in a neo-doubtlet; a leaner more stylized version of an old piece of fashion. Now that the UNSG's influence was fading, the independent systems were making their own fashion statements, particularly the very rich. A few that fancied themselves as marchions of old wore psuedo-medieval garb. Markus noticed he did not bother with the hose.

He stepped upon the raised platform, in clear line of fire from anyone in the crowd, which meant the noble was likely enveloped an in extremely expensive, transparent energy shield.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen." Adan Gallanis declared, his voice carrying from some minute device at his collar. "I hope you enjoyed the free drinks. I apologize for the inconvenience earlier, but it seems I need better security in more than one fashion." At that, a dozen eyes turned back to the woman, still dressed as a lounge singer. Markus gave a smirk, saying nothing. The Baron continued: "Now, as to why you are all here..."

Suddenly, a three dimensional holographic image in blue appeared right above the baron. Anyone familiar with the system could tell it was planet Mazda, the world located in the Goldilocks Zone that the moon Ahura, and consequently themselves, was currently orbiting. A rectangle was placed on the south eastern continent of the planet, labeled 'Yasna' by the text, zooming in to display a coastal area on its western edge, designated as sector 43.

"My son..." He said, clicking a button on the stand to triangulate the view on a city called Uralic. "...has been taken from me. He is being hailed as a double for the heir of Leto Caiba. Currently he is being held by a paramilitary group called the White Sharks, and is about to be transported south across sector 43 to a spaceport, and in 26 hours, he will he transported to an Orbital known as Wisdom's Paradise, and three hours after that, he will be gone for good. They meant to extort me for all I am worth, and instead I am turning to you. However, that means that if you do not hurry, your payday is relinquished in 29 hours."

A low thrum of conversation and trepidation rose up. A few notable individuals loudly complained, those mercs that lived the life because they had too big of an ego or too little social skills for anything else. Markus had already started taking into account the three hour journey it would take to make it to the planet, and the cost of buying a shuttle.

"The payment is 500,000 dablunz. Now, I know for a single hunter that's a big payday, but for a team of twelve it's barely worth the cost of ammo. You know the drill," He said, and at that the men and mutants began glancing at one another. Markus' eye flicked to the woman, rethinking his subtle offer, but deciding his logic was sound. Baron Gallanis's words became grave, suddenly: "But know this. That is my son down there. If you harm him in any way during this extraction, the next group of mercs I gather will be here so I can place a bounty on you, and the payday will be far more lucrative. I take vengeance very seriously... Now go, and bring my son back here. You will be informed of the comm channel you are to contact if you manage to apprehend him."

At that, the room began bustling with activity. Old rivals glared and friends began allying immediately. A few hardened gunfighters approached the Ogros even as the huge mutant peeled off strips of the dead bounty hunter's armor as scavenging scrap. A long haired spacer with a heavy lancer assault rifle, a belt comprised of huge rounds wrapped around his chest, began to negotiate with two hunters, one of them one of the few female mercs in the whole place, except for a female gunfighter, a four armed mutant, and the mysterious woman sitting beside Markus.

Behind Markus, he heard someone clear his throat. Markus recognized that voice.

"You're the Wolf of Sartorius, right? Markus Sartorius?" The gruff, gravely voice of Vargo Sunder asked. He was a broad mercenary with a beard that had turned prematurely grey. Vargo was known for living through what should have killed any other man. It was a well deserved reputation. Markus had seen him get shot in the chest before and live to tell the tale. "I recognize that sword and that hat. How's about you and me team up and cut apart any of these fools who step in our way?"

"No, join me," a sibilant hiss offered. A serpent-headed mutant with red eyes had lowered its head by the extension of its long neck, nearly flicking its tongue into Markus' cheek. "I've heard of you, Markussss. I can sssslip in unnoticed and knock the boy out with a bite. He won't die..."

As a few more offers festooned Markus's ears, he had to quieten them down. "Sorry fellas, got here too late." He said behind his glass, taking another sip.

"Be smart, lad. I might not have her tits, but you'll get paid with me." Vargo rumbled, knowing what Markus implied. "Don't let this girl fool you. You think singin's gonna help you cut down twenty White Sharks?"

For the woman's part, even more were coming after her, but it was clear most were doing so for the same reason Vargo theorized Markus was barking up her tree. A few openly oggled, and a few tried to smooth talk her, while others just leered and gestured suggestively, not even bothering to ask her to partner up. Markus waited to see if she would change her mind, or if she was going to walk out of there with him.

Space Dogs: Hired Guns in a Crumbling Empire

Markus often felt like a pariah, unable to relate even to other mercs. Hunted by the Terran government, the people he once fought and nearly died for, estranged from his family, and unable to keep a partner because they either died, betrayed him, or were fed up with his ways. Yet miraculously, he felt a kinship with his fellow hunters in room D17 in The Gods Eye this night. Because like them, he was not averse to hot women, and uniquely, especially not hot women actively saving his life.

When the woman had come up on stage, sauntering forward in her voluminous dress, Markus had noticed her eyes darting around the room, even landing on him for a brief moment. He had initially assumed she was scanning the room to gauge if the crowd was rowdy enough to be a danger to her, but now he realized he had misread her. She had a good voice, but Markus was too on edge to really appreciate her singing, or even her beauty after a long glance, too preoccupied with his usual suspicions of keeping an eye on the room. Once he had been invited for a job with a dive gang named the Hearkeners only to realize they had been locked in with gas set on them. Markus had escaped with a few of them, only realizing later the job had been a lure to kill the entire gang by a group of enforcers acting under a loose interpretation of the law.

But he still couldn't see all angles, and the singer whom he had delegated to the background, had leaped over the crowd of mutants and toughs and had beaten a would-be assassin with a practiced skill. He might have done it a bit differently, but then again he had never taken down an assassin with a mic-stand in a dress, so he reminded himself he shouldn't judge.

The crowd had gathered around, watching her give the crowd a bow, and then shaking her head as she lifted herself up to get any potential debris from the shattered armor out of her thick locks. Markus noticed a small pistol, carefully concealed, strapped to the small of her back. The tension in the room was palpable, more than a few eyes turning to Markus when he stood up right behind her, and with a sudden movement, took his jacket off, revealing his Secare Saber, a blade that could cut through the plate of an armored transport when activate.

Instead, he gently placed his jacket on her (deceptively) slender shoulders, causing her to meet his eyes.

"Thanks," He said simply. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but they're free here. Maybe after?"

"I might be free," She replied.

Markus took that for what it was, a subtle (albeit coy) acceptance of partnering up. If they were about to become adversaries, there would be no drinks, would there? He pulled a chair out for her to sit in.

The crowd murmured, there were even growls from some of the more bestial mutants. Markus was certain if they caught the nuance of the statement, there would be a riot. The towering Ogros stepped through the crowd, and leaned down to poke the prone body of the fallen bounty hunter. Its body was enormous, covered in thick skin like leather and a wide face that spoke of limited intelligence. "Can I has?" it asked Jocasta slowly, apparently believing her kill meant she owned the corpse now.

"Knock yourself out." She said, turning to take the seat offered to her.

"Huergh?" It grumbled, clearly confused by the turn of phrase.

"It means yes, ya moron." A hardened mercenary remarked, his 6-gauge combat shotgun ready in case the Ogros took offense to his insult.

Markus returned to his seat, glancing at a diminutive morlock that had almost snagged it for himself while the merc was away. The short mutant blanched and lopped back into the crowd, unwilling to remain under his gaze for too long. He took his seat again and grabbed his drink. Right now, any of the hunters that were still watching likely thought the two of them were about to flirt, both being relatively good looking (especially for this crowd) but that was the furthest thing from his mind. Whoever she was, she wasn't a singer. Well, not one hired for here, anyway. Which meant she was skilled in infiltration and subterfuge. She handled herself relatively well in close combat, and she was well informed. All good traits to have in a partner for a job as lucrative as this was likely to be. There were a few bounty hunters here that might be able to replicate those skills, but most were blunt instruments through and through, and the fact she had saved his life meant he trusted her more than the bounty hunters that were likely to shoot him in the back.

Plus, he had to admit, he was intrigued on how she knew what to look for and why she saved him. Was the bounty hunter a plant? Was this woman secretly working for the UNSG? Probably not, but even if she was an agent for the latter, he preferred to have his enemy in his sights than somewhere in the shadows. And if she was just a beautiful woman and a hunter like him, then he really did owe her for saving his skin.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt was not completely lost to what Vincent was talking about. He even understood his side, to a limited degree. But that by no means meant that he agreed with it. The new fiance did not think a marriage was meant to be scrutinized in this particular way other than under the most dire of circumstances, but he also understood there was trauma there, in both Silke and Vincent to some degree, and it would not be so easy as to talk it away. This was something Galt and Silke would have to endure, meaning Vincent's protests. But Galt also knew there really was nothing Vincent could do, short of challenging Galt to a duel or abducting his sister. Granted, Silke wasn't quite as staunch in her certainty as Galt, but the newly christened noble knew Silke felt the way he did.

"Do you think it's only been agreement and smiles since I've known her?" Galt asked, almost laughing. "You've known her your whole life. When was the last time she was engaged? You have to fight her to get her to sleep at a reasonable hour, you think this was easy? Of course she was apprehensive about it, but I wasn't forceful either. We spoke like adults and she agreed, and then we rode together and spent the afternoon in the cabin. But even before our ride, do you really think if this was something Silke knew in her heart was wrong, that she would have gone through with it, anyway?"

Galt shook his head, knowing in his heart that what Vincent was asking for was not rational. That this stemmed from a place of pain as much as Silke's experiences did. "I might be born a commoner, but I know marriage is not happiness all of the time. Nothing in life is. I used to think if I had money and position that all of my problems would go away, but the nobility are as miserable as anyone, just in a different way. I look at your sister and I see someone that works and stresses just as much as a farmer delayed with his monthly rent, managing people's lives and trying to keep his head above water. But you listen to me..."

Galt poked Vincent's chest. Not in an aggressive manner, but to gather his full attention lest he be lost in thought of making up a rebuttal. "She works herself ragged staying here, and you've never been able to convince her to stop. The only thing new in her life, the only thing that's had her take stock and turn in early to get some much needed sleep, is me. You're a fine man, Vincent, but if you really cared about her, and I know you do, you'll see this is something you don't want to ruin. Her life before today would see her hair go grey before she sees fifty winters. Let her live a different life, or you'll only end up grinding her until there's nothing left. And if Silke insists on losing her health in her work and worries, you're damn right I'll fight her, for her sake. I've done it ever since I've met her, and I'm willing to live the rest of my life doing it. You want me to ask her what her plans are? I will when I feel the time is right, but only then, because this is a happy occasion, and I hope sometime you look back and realize that."

Galt quieted, breathing through his nose as he looked at Vincent. "...Now, she's not the only one that's had a long day. I know we both have. Regardless, I appreciate your honesty, let's both think on what the other has said and get some sleep."