| Author | Message | ||
     Heather (Illusion) AMRN Staff Username: Illusion Post Number: 3622 Registered: 2-2001 Rating: N/A |
It was pretty standard as transports go. Rows and rows of seats with just enough room for a person and possibly her elbows, assuming she was slight; flat panels with net connections and various outlets hanging from the backs of the seats; mediocre food that the starliner was charging for due to a seasonal increase in fuel prices; and your standard mishmash of travelers--a smattering of vacationers who could afford to travel for pleasure but didn't quite have the capital for their own ships, or even for a higher class liner; a few couriers and snail mail deliverers; a large number of workers headed off to their new work locations, perhaps permanently; and, of course, those hapless drifters who could be found scrabbling to buy their way onto transports at any point in the solar system. It had been a pretty standard trip as well. The route to Mars was well-established, and the port was old and densely populated, so really, one could expect this much. Transplanetary had been doing this for decades. Of course, the occasional issue was not unheard of. Luggage routinely found its way to the other side of the solar system, for example. Every now and then there'd be a mechanical issue. A few months ago a Transplanetary flight had even crashed, but this was not a regular occurrence. Perhaps a vacationer here or there looked nervous--didn't travel much, did they?--but for the most part the passengers were absorbed in the world contained within their individual seats, net diving or watching a program or playing a game. Or, perhaps, seeming to do these things, while really watching the situation around them. For, as always, there were cowboys on the flight, too. In fact, two of them were fairly obvious. They were sitting in the middle of a row near the hull and up towards the main exit, though a few rows back. One of them had red hair that was seemingly sculpted to his head save for a haystack that jutted out above his right eye; this was restrained by a thin black chain, from which a silver cross dangled onto the man's forehead. There was a scar on his opposite cheek and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of silver goggles. He was dressed to fight, in light, tight-fitting blue shirt and loose jeans. The woman, on the other hand, was dressed to kill, in a red patent leather bodysuit that perhaps made her movements more easy and comfortable, but almost certainly had the opposite effect on anyone who might find the female form even remotely appealing. Nestled between her breasts, visible through one of the many shapes cut out of intriguing places on the bodysuit, was her own silver cross. Her dark eyes never wavered from the seat she and her partner were flanking, legs crossed, fingers playing idly along the chocolate skin visible at her midriff. Between them, handcuffed to the woman, squirmed a greasy little rodent of a man who must have been an embezzler or a hacker or who simply must have crossed the wrong person's path, because he absolutely did not look dangerous in any way. Unshaven, short, with skinny arms but a thick midsection, the man appeared to be ludicrously weak and sluggish, and the dull, twitching gray eyes above his flat, wide nose did nothing to dispell this impression. He did not seem to have any color to him whatsoever; while his hair and face and eyes differed in shade, there was no life to them. Gray was the best description, though even that felt too generous. His clothes were bland too, a plain white shirt and equally plain gray pants, though a crooked earring hung dreadfully out of place from his left ear. Must be a pretty cheap bounty. They'd probably pick up a couple thousand Woolongs from the ISSP on Mars, which might pay their way back to where they came from. Seemed like an awful waste. Haystack sat drumming his fingers on a sleek black case, which upon further inspection was handcuffed to him. He was humming softly and glancing at the bounty every now and then, smirking. Chocolate moved her hand away from her bellybutton and up to the thick black curls that, like most of Haystack's hair, seemed sculpted to her head. "I have to go," the rodent said suddenly, loud enough that most of the compartment could hear. "Beg pardon?" came Chocolate's mellow drawl, an amused smile twitching her cherry red lips. "Are we to understand that you are using the oldest trick in the book on us?" "What do you take us for?" Haystack put in. "You're not going anywhere." The rodent sighed. "Suit yourself," he simpered. And then, shortly-- "Ew, what is that?" "What a horrible smell!" "Is that...?" "Ugh!" The passengers on all sides of the bounty hunters suddenly started spooging out of their seats and down the aisles, hands over their noses. "What the hell did you do!" Haystack shouted, clapping a hand over his mouth and nose. "I had to go," the rodent said. "I don't believe this." "Cutter, go get something to clean this up with," Chocolate said, her voice calm despite the twisted look of disgust on her face. "There's no way we can let him out of this chair." "Right," said Haystack, looking slightly relieved. He rose, hoisting the briefcase in one hand, and found his path to the washroom free and clear. "I'll just be a moment," he said, navigating the rows of empty seats. The rodent watched him as he left, then turned a sickly pleasant smile to Chocolate and began to speak. Their muttered conversation was unintelligible, until-- "What?" Chocolate said sharply. "That's the most ridiculous bluff I've ever heard. How'd we get it on board, then?" The smarmy little man mumbled something, and Chocolate froze. Then, gritting her teeth, she tapped her earpiece and began speaking softly. The rodent, apparently blissfully unconcerned about wallowing in his own filth, watched her and smiled. "Now," he announced to the passenger compartment once she'd finished her conversation, which towards the end had degenerated into angry whispers, "I think I'd like to go see the captain." Chocolate let out a puff of breath and leaned over her knees, staring at the floor. Then, with another huff, she was out of her chair and stalking towards the aisle. Mouse Man followed, leaving a nasty dripping trail behind him. "I hope they're going to clean that up," a man across the room said, even as two more men, swathed in monk robes and faces invisible behind large orange scarves, slid casually along either side of the compartment. Both men had one hand in a pocket. | ||
| Ai Feng (Li) PC Username: Li Post Number: 6 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: |
The stretching creak of vinyl from her long, slinky overcoat undoubtedly drew attention from any person who liked sex in Ai's immediate vicinity as she slid slightly in her chair to get a better look at the noise coming from the forward portion of the cabin. gJeez, this is gonna get messy.h She muttered more to herself than to the man she'd been flirting with for the last... However long. Trying for the first time since she got on the transport to not draw attention, she casually leaned back into her seat and pulled twin chrome briefcases off the floor, and laid one across her lap, the other against her chest. Small green LED readouts next to the handles of each reported that the cases and their contents were blissfully sealed from the outside world and operating at optimal temperature. She really hoped they could stop whatever caliber of bullets might start flying around, while her thumb and index finger caressed the two pressure sensitive areas of the case on her lap. gYou might want to keep that slick head of yours down, Jackh Ai cooed, apologetically grinning at the guy next to her, sorry that their verbal dance was interrupted by her sudden concealment under the cases. She would've felt worse about not being able to recall his name if she had ever been in the business of caring. Right now she was more upset about having to bury the naughty nurse get-up she had spent the previous day putting together. The man across the aisle from her still seemed more interested in her legs than the commotion rapidly escalating ahead of them, so she winked at him then slouched to try to get as much of her body under the heavy cases as possible. gWhat the hell is with my luck.h The woman groaned mentally as she envisioned having to sit through another date with an ISSP officer, at least she wasn't involved in whatever shit was about to hit the fan. | ||
| Kiichi (Fujiwara) PC Username: Fujiwara Post Number: 2 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
Kiichi Fujiwara looked like a businessman flying cheap in his rumpled navy-blue suit—possibly his only suit—with no tie, a businessman who was somewhere between tired and terminally bored. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth. He lowered the magazine that he had been reading when the commotion behind him began, checked it out, and hid behind the magazine again. As the Mouse Man was passing him, Kiichi reached out to his left and tugged the man's sleeve. "Ah, excuse me." He moved his magazine out of the way and grinned at the odd little man, showing a nice set of teeth and looking as if he were perhaps a little bit drunk. "You're leaking." He pointed to the wet trail behind the man. He suspected that there was a reason why the ISSP always bought him a seat near the front of the ship. (Message edited by Fujiwara on August 21, 2007) | ||
| Martin (Valenti) PC Username: Valenti Post Number: 2 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
Marty was torn between watching the lady across the isle from him, and seeing what the hubbub was all about. Especially after the woman had winked at him. That had really rooted him in his seat. Sadly, some movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention briefly. Just the orange of some monk's scarf. Ready to turn his attention back to the strange, yet beautiful woman across the aisle, the too casual movements of the man stayed his interest. Too many years of working in the slums, and you begin suspecting everyone of packing heat. Cursing under his breath Marty rose, and with a silent farewell to the covered lady, started making his way to the closest 'monk'. Dressed in worn jeans and a battered vest with his hair gathered into a ponytail Marty looked every bit a drifter. Covering his nose and mouth with the bandana that had covered his hair, didn't help him look any more respectable, though it did help against the stench. He only hoped that he managed to sneak up behind the monk without being noticed. | ||
| Garin Zechs (Gnt) PC Username: Gnt Post Number: 1 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
Garin was lucky enough to have a seat at the back of the transport, distant enough from the scene made by the strange trio not to have to deal with the scent of the situation. He scratched the back of his neck though his unkempt black hair and stifled a yawn as he flipped the page on the magazine he had laid on his lap on top of a simple briefcase. He leaned back, not entirely drawn into an explanation on the top five-star restaurants on Mars he had only passed by getting home from work, his eyes flickering to take in the various scenes taking place around him. Like a few others on the transport that Garin could see, the young man had a sense of uneasiness about him as the scene in front of him played out slowly. His fingers went up to idly play with the top button on his shirt, but he soon gathered himself enough to flip the next page and pretend to give a care about what some chef could do with a rack of lamb. He hoped that, sitting in the back, he could just let things play out without getting dragged into anything. He wasn't much in close quarters anyway and didn't need the attention nor the aftermath. | ||
| Takahashi (Kaito) PC Username: Kaito Post Number: 1 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
With his head lolled back and to the side in the transport seat, exposing his abnormally large adam's apple, Takahashi Kaito snored quietly. Thin, well-worn wire frames hung slightly askew and a bit of drool actually clung at the corner of his mouth. Someone beside him shifted in their seat as Mouse Man dribbled by, causing Takahashi to start a bit, unconsciously lick his lips and settle back into another all-to-uncomfortable position. A few moments passed and his quiet snoring resumed. | ||
| Marlowe (Mackinnon) PC Username: Mackinnon Post Number: 5 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
Slouched low in his seat, the short, stocky blonde kept to himself as much as the cramped quarters allowed. The phones in Marlowe's ears discouraged conversation, but he wasn't really watching the comedy playing on his seatback screen. Now and again a hand would rub absently at the spot on his cheek where Rose hadn't slapped him. Stupid, really, still brooding about it this long after the fact. But he still wished she'd done it, just given him a good pop. It would have been easier to take than that look. It was the sudden stink which finally yanked him out of the middle distance. "Agh! What the hairy holy hell?" Others were stampeding back, clearing a wide circle around three passengers. Marlowe knew he ought to stay put, but the smell was just too rank. As the scrum cleared out a bit, he squeezed out into the aisle. Almost immediately a stray foot hooked his ankle and Marlowe fell forward. He rose to all fours and found himself face-to-knee with a man got up like...a monk? He cast his memory back, trying to remember if he'd seen the man in the boarding lounge. "Sorry, man," Marlowe said with a grin, "just trying to get clear of the blast zone, y'know?" | ||
| Roper James (Roper) PC Username: Roper Post Number: 2 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
The small sign on the door of the restroom at the back of the compartment switched from Occupied to Vacant, and the man who had been in the rather closet-like stall for the past fifteen minutes glared through the resulting crack, cursing to himself, "Fuck, sumbitch's movin' the wrong goddamn way. Thought this'd be easy, like, money in the bag easy, but, no, no, no, shit gotta go down the wrong way every goddamn time." He got out of the stall, but not before taking a second to wipe off his sunglasses, pat himself on the head, and check his white suit to make certain it was still sharp. As soon as he was done primping, he tried to remember where his seat was, weighing whether or not it was even worth his trouble to go back to it if things were going to happen the way he thought they might happen. Instead of deciding one way or the other, he stayed where he was, acting like he had dropped something on the floor without thinking. I don't know if it was a tip, a hint, or somebody just makin' shit up, bro, he thought to himself, wincing as somebody in the crowd accidentally stepped on his fingers while he was on the floor, but I'm not gonna sit and watch some little dude piss all over his damn self if there ain't no fuckin' reward at the end of it. I mean, shit, man. | ||
| Williams James (Williams) PC Username: Williams Post Number: 2 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
"I don't like this one bit, that cat looks way too stiff," said a man with a meticulously permed and cared for afro, his eyes tracking the female cowboy and the incontinent salary man as they moved towards the cockpit of the shuttle. He shook his head slightly and took a moment to run a thumb under the fold of his dark maroon suit, before pulling out a yellow handkerchief from the breast pocket and holding it up to cover his nose. "Man, and I thought stale O-2 was bad," he then muttered, a faintly disbelieving look crossing his features. "This guy must eat the worst things known to man." Then, he slid his gaze from side to side. A faint frown crossed his features and he reached into a pocket to pick up a small communicator, reminiscent of a cell phone but not designed for more than two-way work by its look. "Hey, Roper. Check out the cats movin' up the sides after this circus. You better get ready for some action. I'm callin' this hunt off, but I don't want no blood stains on our suits, Bro." He held it up closely to his mouth and spoke quietly, but the smooth accent of the sort of person who had spent a lot of time buttering up conversation with the ladies. | ||
| Kira (Ovadia) PC Username: Ovadia Post Number: 3 Registered: 7-2007 Rating: N/A |
Kira started when the reek walked by. He looked right at her! She hadn't been expecting it to be that easy. She'd been ready to snap a mugshot of him as soon as she'd gotten a clear look at his face, but she hadn't expect a perfect frontal. She reviewed the image while the old dude in the seat beside her resumed snoring. The guy smelled of tobacco and old Italian food. It reminded her of Ben Pierce, the SAW gunner from her old platoon. He was a nice enough guy, but couldn't get it through his head that he wasn't her type. The image looked sharp enough. She did a squirt onto the ISSP Bounty Database to see if his face would turn up any matches. Long odds, but what the hell?. He seemed to know things, and the other two seemed less like Cowboys then mercenaries. Not that there was much difference, but Kira liked anything that would help her think of them as targets. She could kill targets. Now the tasty little Asian number flirting with everyone in her immediate seating area... That was Kira's type. Oh yeah! Kira risked a glance back. The Asian was obviously guy friendly, but a girl could look. The Asian was hiding behind a pair of briefcases, and there was coal black fireplug pretending to be a man in the middle of the isle. Crap on toast! Somebody knew something, and Kira wished she was in on it. She cast about for something to arm herself with, vowing never to check her guns again. The old dude had a cane, but it was on the opposite side from her. Well, zayde, if it hits the fan, I'm totally stealing that. |
