Ingrid gasped. "I'll give any help I can, to reunite a mother and her child." she said, carried away by her desire to help. Then she paused; this was well outside anything she'd ever done and nothing at all like her role. "Is there anything you can tell me about this Grylla and the Draxos estate?" she asked hesitantly.

"It's not like I know what this sort of thing should pay," Cheshire answers Teddy. "I suppose I can afford to pay each of you 5,000 credits."

"I don't know why you'd think it was a space job; there was nothing in the note that said that. I certainly hope it doesn't become a space job!"

"You'd probably consider Grylla one of those 'bad boy' types. He was a bit of a wild one, but I always thought he had a heart of gold. Maybe he did when I knew him."

"Somewhere along the way, he changed. I think I was too close to him to see it at first. It all came to a head one night when he got drunk and... got violent. It scared me. I realized that I'd fallen out of love with him, so I divorced him."

"He didn't seem to care, didn't want to have anything to do with his son. Once again, he changed. He decided he should have custody of Nathaniel. I didn't know if he'd get violent again, though, so I told him no."

"The next day, he took Nathaniel when I wasn't home. When the babysitter tried to stop him, he attacked her... put her in the hospital."

"The Draxos Estate was a farm a hundred years ago, but the owner died and the farm closed. It's been a hangout ever since. Sometimes used as a garage, a warehouse, a bar... nothing ever seems to last long."

"Grylla and I stayed there for awhile when we were first married. It was kind of exciting and romantic at the time... well, it seemed like it. I was a bit young."

"It has three buildings that I know of--a barn, a shed, and the main house. The house has two stories and maybe a dozen rooms."

  Zhouth continued to hold his peace as Cheshire spoke. One of his questions had been answered in part, but another remained open. "The local lawkeepers don't care about any of this?" He paused for a moment before making a small those-of-us-here gesture with one hand. "And they also won't care about a bunch of offworlders storming someone's manor?"

Aaron kept quiet in the first exchange, with an quick glance at Theodore, shaking his head almost unnoticeable. At first he was sceptical with many questions, later sympathetic as she answered some of them.

"I sympathize with your plight, miss Cheshire", he pressed upon her, he asked in what he thought as a comforting tone. He was still unsure what her state of mind was and tried to observe her reaction as much as possible, "You.. ", he continued, "You mentioned a baby-sitter. May I ask, how old is your son?"

It seems more questions were burning on his lips, but he kept it at that, for now.

In reply to Zhouth (msg # 38):

[SIX DEGREES OF AARON LANCASTER]

The door into the bar opens, letting the wan brown light in as a dark figure sheathed in armor steps in--halting just a step inside, as the door swings shut behind him.  The dark armor the man is wearing is covered in a significant amount of brown dust, as is the full helmet that covers his head--even the odd-looking staff or weapon or whatever strapped across his back is covered with the ubiquitous brown dust of Asim.

(OOC: Anyone who has visited Planet Drinax might recognize the outfit as a variation of the rugged Hazard Suits worn by people who live in The Wastelands of that ruined planet)

The newcomer moves his hands--activating a small device on his left forearm with his right hand--and the faceplate of the helmet glows red as he looks around the bar.  His gaze falls upon the group sitting at the table with Cheshire--the glow fades from the helmet's faceplate as the man reaches up with both hands and lifts the helmet up off his head.

Revealed under the incandescent lighting of the bar is the face of a human male, pale of skin, clean shaven, with dark brown hair cut very short on top and shaved on the sides and back of his head.

But it was his eyes that caught one's attention--they were red.  Not 'red' as in 'blood-shot', but red as in the sclera (the white eyeball, itself) is a bright red in color, surrounding a blue iris.

A voice from someone in the bar groans "Oh, shit--he's back."

The red-eyed man stalks across the bar and walks up to the table, carrying his helmet in his left hand.  Once at the table, he sets his helmet down hard, glowers at everyone, then does a slight double take.

"Aaron." the red-eyed man growls, nodding at Aaron in recognition, then he turns his attention back to the whole table.

He raises his gloved right hand--holding a familiar looking note.

"Who?" the red-eyed man demanded in a firm, but low voice.

Teddy nods at the newcomer "Welcome Vespexer."

"For 5,000 credits, do you want him dead? Or you just want the kid back?"

  While he seemed to be taking things in with the same casual ease, Zhauth shifted his posture to sit fully upright and fold both hands on the table. The new arrival was part of the reason - actually, more the response of the locals to the new arrival, since 'Cheshire' had apparently sent him an invitation too - but Theodore's unbidden and almost offhanded offer of murder was at least as much of a concern.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:05, Fri 10 May 2019.

When the armoured man entered, Aaron's attention was quickly caught by the commotion and a soft smile appeared upon his face. He chuckled slightly and when the Vespexer acknowledged Aaron, the small man met his gaze and offered a small nod of greeting in return.

His attention was quickly caught however by the naval captain as he made his offer. The medic switched gaze instantly and looked at his rescuer from years back with unbelief on his face. He shook his head, but quickly recomposed himself and return his attention once more to their would-be employer.

"I'm not offering to kill him, I'm just surprised with the casual offer. I accept the amount to rescue your son if it can be legally done. The governor here does not like me, in fact he hates my guts. I can't stay here too long and definitely don't want to come to his attention."

Aaron catches Theodore's gaze and holds his hands up, as if he backs off. An silent attempt to apologise for the apparent misinterpretation.

His gaze then returns to miss. Cheshire.

In reply to Aaron Lancaster (msg # 46):

     Though nobody responds to his 'question' about the note he's holding up, Varca observes the immediate conversation around the table--especially that of the drenko with the Imperial accent who'd offered him greeting--noting that questions seem to be directed to a slight brunette woman.

     The slip of paper still clamped between two fingers, Varca now points those fingers at the brunette, while he turns his gaze to Aaron.

     "That one?" Varca asks Aaron, in the first 'friendly' tone of voice anyone's heard from him--not that he's spoken much, so far.

---

OOC:

  The navy man backtracked and the situation eased somewhat, but with multiple people talking it would only have confused things to have added his own voice back into the mix, so he merely inclined his head in a nod to answer the vesepexer's question.

"I'm so sorry that happened, miss. I'll do everything I can to make it right" Ingrid says soothingly, genuinely sympathetic. She could imagine how a girl would make Cheshire's mistake. There was little more tragic than when a woman's husband turned on her; how could she defend herself?

She looks at Theodore curiously when he says the governor here hates him. I'm sure there's a story there.

Ingrid looks up at Varca and shies away a little from the intimidating figure. "I think so, yes." she answers him quietly, seeing the paper in his hand.

In reply to Ingrid Gustavdottir Sigar (msg # 49):

     Between knowing his friend Aaron's dislike of social conflict and then reading his facial expression, plus noticing the Vargr nodding his head after he's asked if the brunette was the originator of the note, and then the--well, well--the attractive blonde with the strange accent speaking up, Varca was pretty sure he had his answer.

     Varca flung the piece of paper across the table to land in front of the brunette.

     "Don't know what's going on, girl," Varca says gruffly, glaring down at Cheshire with his red-eyed gaze, "But I just dropped a Wilderness Ranger off at the clinic with a broken leg after dragging him down out of the mountains.  Damfool tracked me down, gave me that note of yours, then tried to arrest me.  I objected.  You might want to check up on him, later."

     Varca looks around the table, then settles his gaze back on Cheshire, "Like I said, I don't know what's going on, here--" he shrugs his shoulders, "--don't actually care.  But whatever it is, if the Imperial, there..." Varca hooks a thumb in Thomas' direction, "...is talking murder, it's pretty much a guarantee to get screwed up and messy."

     Varca suddenly grins a somewhat--disturbing--grin, "I like messy.  Name's Varca--" he says to everyone at the table, as he reaches up and back, pulling the odd-looking staff from his back and resting it against the table, near where his helmet sits, then sticks his right leg back and hooks his foot around a nearby (thankfully empty) chair from another table, drags it over and drops down into it, "--the rest of it's for friends and family, which you ain't."

     Varca turns to look over at the bartender, "Shot of grain alcohol!" Varca shouts at the man, "Milk chaser."

     Without waiting to see the look of disgust on the bartenders face, Varca turns back around to face the table.  Breaking into a smile, Varca leans over--reaching past whoever might be sitting between them, and not caring--and slugs Aaron in the shoulder with his gloved fist.

     "Hey there, Scholar!  Been a few months--or has it been a year, already?  You're looking plump and prosperous."

---

OOC: hope you don't mind, Aaron--I just figgered you'd recognize Varca being in the middle of a snit, and not want to get in the middle of him and a potential Patron by speaking up.

"Who you calling Imperial Vespexer? I'm Drinaxian. Originally from the palace. Lately down low myself if I'm on Drinax. Not particularly welcome up above. I was a bad boy."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:51, Sat 11 May 2019.

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 51):

"Izzat right?" Varca drawls in his gravelly voice, losing his grin as he looks over at Thomas, "You sound like an Imperial...you look like an Imperial...you butt-in like an Imperial...but you're really just a misunderstood Drinaxi from the Palace, huh?"

Varca brings up his gloved left hand and makes a few halting motions with it, "Oh, oh, wait, don't tell me--you got rid of your Drinaxi accent for Professional Reasons, right?"

Varca stares, unblinking, at Thomas for a couple of seconds...

OOC Theodore, not Thomas

"Haven't been back in a loooonngg time Vespexer, but yeah, I'm from the palace, though not welcome there anymore. I've been disinherited, I don't get daddies knighthood." he says, ignoring the faux punches.


"You can call me Mac." he tells Varca.

In reply to Theodore McFarlane (msg # 53):

OOC: CRAP!  Sorry.  Just coming off a 12 hour shift & checking the boards before I hit the sack.

In reply to Varca Lexand (msg # 54):

OOC - ouch! I always hated 12 hour shifts, nice to be retired! Good night Vespexer! ;-)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:53, Sat 11 May 2019.

The jab from Varca got a chuckle out of Aaron. He turned back towards the Vespexer and with mock shock he patted his now slightly pumped-up belly and he lifted his hands sideways, palms up, with his head shaking in mock confusion. Signalling that he had no idea what the man was talking about.

He returned to his posture with a chuckle on his face. He signalled side-ways with his head towards their would-be employer and a single nod to the armoured man, seemingly confirming what Varca already suspected, that this was 'C'.

Afterwards though, it almost seemed as if his belly was slightly pulled in than before.

  Zhouth wasn't particularly impressed by the sudden outburst of posturing, choosing instead to remain focused on Cheshire and the information she had been providing and hopefully would start providing again before the other two had time to move from words to fists. Or worse.

"Yeahhhhh...that ain't gonna happen, Imperial." Varca responds to Theodore, then turns back to Aaron.

"Sorry, Scholar," Varca says to Aaron, "guess I kinda made a mess here, myself--barging in, like usual.  We'll have to catch up later."

Varca then shifts in his seat and faces Cheshire, putting both gloved hands down on the table, to either side of his helmet.

"Right.  Sorry to you, too, gir--" Varca closes his red eyes and pauses, raises a restraining hand for a moment, before continuing, "Miss.  I'm sorry for the interrupt, Miss."

Varca pauses to look around and see if anyone is paying attention to their table--then slams a hand down on the table and shouts at the bartender, "Where's my booze?!"

The waitress--who had just been walking up to the table--jumped a little at the sudden shout, almost tipping the tray she was carrying, with a shot glass of clear liquid and a tumbler of white liquid.

"Screw you, Redeye!" the bartender shouts back, flipping Varca a one-fingered salute, "That'll be six credits in frigging Drinaxi Scrip.  And I hope you choke on it!"

"I know you love me, you big poofka, but I don't swing that way!" Varca yells back, as he reaches to his utility belt and pulls out a wad of crumpled synthetic paper bills from a pouch, counts out a few, and tosses them onto the waitress' tray as she puts the two glasses on the table in front of him.

"And a little something for you, Doll." Varca says to her, tossing an extra bill onto the tray--as she turns away with a disgusted look on her face.

Varca shoves the wad of bills back into his utility belt, grabs the shot glass and downs the contents in one smooth motion.

"Whoo!" he says, inverting the glass and thumping it down on the tabletop.  Then he picks up the tumbler of what looks to be milk, and guzzles it down quick.

"Ahhh!  Grain alcohol and milk--just like Mama used to serve me, when I was a wee babe!" Varca says with a grin after finishing the milk, then he leans in over the table and lowers his voice.

"Okay, Miss, when I walked in and disrupted your meeting--again, sorry for that--the Imperial, here, was asking you about killing somebody.  So.  Who we killing, do you care how we kill them, where are they, and what're their defenses?  Oh, and, uh, what'd they do to deserve getting murdered?  I do have some ethics, after all."

"Goodness" Ingrid says softly when Varca described the fight he was in. She gives him a cool look for his lack of manners, but politely responds "Pleased to meet you" when he introduces himself.

"Heheheheheheheheh, you are good Vespexer, from you, Imperial is good."