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The Field, Impiruil Baile
Grass of a cyan blue covers the ground, each blade like a tuft of hair; soft to the touch. Wildflowers, some in clumps and some singly making brave attempts at survival, shine in a variety of colors and make a stark contrast to the monotone grasses they attempt to hide within. A steady tract of flat land gives way to undulations that gradually rise into hills to the north, the furry covering of grass giving way to glimpses of magenta stone as it ascends. Waves of purple permeate from the west, as does the subtle aroma of heather. From the east and southeast, a cacophony of as yet undiscovered species of frogs, birds and insects all add their voices to the strangely familiar chorus. Eerily, no sound but the howling of wind, even stronger and more vociferous than that of the nearby mountains, comes from the northeast.
A camp has been set up here. Designed to cause the least damage to the landscape possible. A med tent, a mess tent, a tent for meetings, and several tents of all different sizes are set up for people to live in. There is a fence which surrounds the perimeter with guards stationed in intervals as well as certain openings which are also guarded with towers. Along with the fence is a laser perimeter that will alert security if anything larger than a small insect breaches it.
Visitors to the planet please do not leave the camp without escorts from Danu. Wildlife, plant, animal, or mineral, is not to be removed without permission from the Danu Chroi government. The local wildlife is dangerous, should you not follow the rules and should you be injured or killed, Danu Chroi will not be responsible for your actions.
Majors is currently smoking a cigarette and drinking a gin and tonic. The Sivadian seems to be eyeing the fence line.
Majors
Standing about five feet eleven inches, this man looks to be in his early thirties. His dark blonde hair is cut short and feathered forward for what little difference it makes with its relatively short length. He is thick muscled and his skin has the faintest of tans to it. Pale grey-blue eyes look out from a weathered face that has slightly too large ears and with lips that have the faintest pout to them and a somewhat high hairline and a hard squared jaw. Despite these seemingly defects the man does come off as handsome if in an askew way.
The man is clad in a tailored light grey two button sports coat with only the top button done. Under this is a soft cotton cyan colored oxford shirt, the top button left undone to give it a more casual look. His lower half is covered by some light washed blue denim jeans that while not tight, do conform to his body closely. His feet are clad in a pair of light brown boots with a dull polish.
Kethren stretches a bit as he strolls out of the city gates accompanied by a sizable white tiger, calico kitten-ferret, and a knitting guard.
James Sterling hops out of a shuttle, his nose wrinkling. Before the craft departs, he leans toward the driver. "Y'might wanna consider vacuumin' in here at some point," he drawls in his Australian accent. "Unless yer /tryin'/ t'gather the world's biggest collection of cracker crumbs." The shuttle takes off, and Sterling's smug smirk remains on his face as he turns to walk away from the landing area.
Majors sips his drink and then takes a drag from his cigarette. "A shame they never allowed hunting." He muses to himself. "Wonder where ole Miss Marine went." He continues.
[Item System] Majors shows you his Colonel Pickering:
Colonel Pickering - Event Reward
Manufactured By: MajorsThe Colonel is a glorious specimen of poultry dignity and grace. The robotic rooster stands about two feet tall and sports creamy brown feathers with long green plumes extending from his generous rump. The Rooster's crown is prominent and quite red .The regal fowl wears a uniform befitting his rank with the British Empire circa the 18th century. A garish red coat with gold buttons cover the Colonel's torso.
Kethren nods at the Majors while he scratches the tiger's head. "Evening."
Sterling slows as he approaches the fellow in the sports coat with the ... robotic rooster? "Does /everybody/ in this universe have a bloody robot?" he mutters none-too-quietly. "G'day, Kethren," he calls to the man with the robot tiger. "Am I bargin' in on the meetin' of the Robot Owners' Club or somethin'?" He spends an extra moment examining the robot he hasn't seen before, then shifts his gaze to the man it's accompanying. "Don't think I've seen you about before," he comments.
"Hrrm?" Majors turns his head towards Sterling and lifts a brow. "They are useful for companionship when you are too big of an arse for real company." The Sivadian says in his posh accent. The cock struts around and turns his beak up. "I do declare." The robocock crows in an equally posh Sivadian accent.
Kethren leans back against the side of that tiger, eyeing Majors curiously "So what brings you by the Baile this evening? H'lo James. Sorry about the shuttles, I'll yell at the right folks later."
Sterling chuckles. "I've been told I c'n be something of an arse even when I don't put my mind to it," he tells Majors, "but I never needed t'turn to robotic companionship. 'Specially not talkin' robotic companionship." He smirks at Majors. "I met a talkin' goat once. Not robotic." He scratches at his scruffy chin. "Wonder what ever happened t'that Pennebaker guy, anyhow... an' no worries, Kethren ... I kinda like tellin' 'em off now an' again."
"I was thinking of poaching." Majors replies to Kethren with a small nod. "You still have those killer deer?" The Sivadian asks as he flicks his cigarette butt away. "Why would you even want to bag a robot when the universe if full of perfectly good whores? One can not toss a rock without hitting more than a few able and willing ones." He says towards Sterling.
Kethren rolls his eyes slightly "Rather you didn't, really. Vessa wouldn't be too pleased.... killer deer? Are you talking about that... pet she has? I guess pet's the right word, anyway."
"Oh, I know, mate," Sterling replies to Majors. He makes a face. "I never even thought about havin' a robot t'do that... though I suppose here in The Future there's tech t'do any sort of thing a person'd wanna do. Even the weird ones." He doesn't react to Majors' mention of poaching, but the sight of the other man's cigarette does cause him to fish in his jacket's inner breast pocket for a rumpled packet of his own.
"Vessa is a fine one I haven't seen in some time. Is she about by any chance?" Majors asks as he looks back towards the fence line. "She did keep one as a pet but they a mean little blighters. Travel in packs, had a hard time taking one down unarmed even in powerarmor. Good game." Majors grins faintly. "The wierd ones tend to stick it into aliens mate. Not that some of them aren't good fun. Try the space gypsies. They are as randy as they come. Suprised their planet wasn't more over crowded than it was."
Kethren scratches the tiger's head a bit "Regrettably she's not available at the moment, no. And we never had those deer on this planet. Believe they're native to Tavros."
Sterling grabs a cigarette wrapped in blue paper from the packet with his lips, nodding Majors' way. "Some of 'em, sure. Others ... not so much." He pauses to light the cigarette with a metal lighter he produces from another pocket. "I love goin' t'Eiru, f'r example, but landin' at the spaceport always messes with me allergies some. We get all the shots and medicine and whatnot from Doc Hall, but it still gets through somehow. Never can get past the dog smell either." He takes a deep drag, closing his eyes.
"You are quite right. After all this time I am still not use to this region of space." Majors shakes his head. "Now I do wonder though, any good game out there? It has been some time since I last had a good spot of fun." The Sivadian says before looking over at Sterling. "How is ole Alister doing these days? Still making cat trees and whatnot?"
Kethren nods "Well, as regards that deer, Vessa had it when I met her, and it was some months before we started to explore this gem of a world, so I was fairly sure they weren't from here. Easiest option of course, would be to visit the farm and annoy the leghorns. One of them nearly tore Vessa's neck out before the city was grown."
Sterling's shoulders slump somewhat as he holds the smoke in his lungs. After half a minute or so he blows the smoke out of one corner of his mouth and opens his eyes, his expression noticeably more relaxed. "Heh, Doc Hall had a tree with kittens growin' on it back on C'morro," he drawls. "Poor C'morro. She was a gigantic space whale an' the weirdest place I ever lived, but I miss 'er."
"Yes I do miss her and my bar. The good ole Cafe Orion." Majors shakes his head. "Never did have the heart to rebuild it after... Well." The Sivadian shakes his head slightly once more. "Now tell me about these Leghorns." He adds towards Kethren
Kethren smirks "They're about three feet high, basically giant chickens... really short legs, huge eyes, rather nasty beak. And quite delicious... shame about Comorro..." Floriana, on keth's shoulder as usual, looks fairly sad at the name being mentioned. The tiger doesn't respond, and Butch just keeps knitting.
"That reminds me: I gotta replace the Auk target I had tacked t'me wall in the barracks." Sterling grins toothily. "Had a perfect grouping, I did." He makes a circle of his thumb and forefinger and holds it against the center of his chest. "Right 'ere. Can't wait t'do that t'some real Auks." He points his cigarette at Kethren. "I remember you sayin' somethin' about giant chickens one time... I ain't much fer huntin' game animals, but I might take a shot at a three-foot chicken." He laughs. "Drumsticks fer everybody!"
Majors is looking out at the fence line. Kethren is nearby with something to do with knitting and a tiger and something else a certain player can't recall. James is puffing away at a cigarette. "A three foot tall chicken. No.. that would not be fun to hunt. Pickering would just try to bugger it up its arse. Cheeky fellow." The Sivadian says with a faint grin. "Goatmen can not be any harder to kill than some of the terrible and strange things I have come across in this space."
Kethren nods "Even less fun to hunt if you find the one in our farm, I'm sure. All in a nice enclosed coop. Not sporting at all."
"Pssh, who'd wanna shoot at a thing in a bloody pen?" Sterling's drawl is somewhat slower now, and his gaze seems unfocused as he takes another drag from that blue paper-wrapped cigarette. He grins belatedly at Majors' assessment of Pickering. "That might be fun t'watch," he puts in, "from a distance."
"The hell is that smell? Is that Drakkar Noir? Ain't that shit been -outlawed- in this universe?" Alhambra drawls, ambling in from the city. She heads straight over to the group and tips her hat to Kethren. James gets a law-woman's squint and Majors, well, there's a seventy yard sneer with the Sivadian's name on it. "Everything about this man is better from a distance," she chuffs. James gets another squint. "I know you? You onna Micky's pals, ain'tcha?"
"Yes well.. I suppose it could be interesting to watch if only to say you have seen it once." Majors says with a small nod of his head. Alhambra gets a kiss blown at her. "How is my favorite squaw doing?"
Kethren nods at the new arrival, as Floriana offers a cheerful wave. "Evening, Al. Our favorite friend decided to pay us a social visit. Wasn't that nice?" Butch continues to watch thigns, but occasionally looks down to his knitting when he thinks nobody notices.
Sterling chuckles at Alhambra as she comes up to the group. "Yeh, I reckon y'do. Name's Sterling. I was just talkin' about the Auk target I shot at yer range a ways back. Gonna need t'score me another one o'them fer me new barracks room." He flicks ash off the end of the cigarette. "I wouldn't call meself a 'pal' o' Micky's," he says. "He works fer the same boss I do, 's all."
"Enjoyin' my weekend at my home away from home, Discount Mister Bond, so don't you go fuckin' it up by making me whale your ass into tarpaper again," Al replies, expression and tone a jovial contrast to the words that are actually coming out of her mouth. "Go head, get alla yer dollar store racism out on the table. I's dating a Japanese guy too, so hi ya, egg foo young, kemo sabe. Pretty sure 'kemo sabe' means 'dumbshit white boy' in Chocktaw anyhow." She rolls her eyes at Keth. "Oh yeah, nice like a muhfuckin' hemorrhoid. Can I shoot him today? Perty please?" James gets a shaggy-headed nod. "I got nothin' but respect for Diri's boys, and the other folks carryin' on his works. Bless all of ya for keepin' it from all the fuckass vultures what come outta the woodwork after his untimely passin." She removes her hat, briefly.
"A Japanese bloke? You poor misguided savage." Majors says with a shake of his head. "If you ever care for some firewater and a real shag let me know Adams-Apple-Like-Man." The Sivadian says with a wink.
Kethren chuckles at Al with a vaguely sinister glint in his eye "Hey, if he misbehaves, you've certainly got some authority up here."
The words of respect from Alhambra take Sterling by surprise, and he cants his head at her. Unsure of how exactly to respond, he chooses instead to take a drag from his cigarette.
Alhambra
She is a human female, of faintly exotic racial origin, possibly Qua, and most likely somewhere in her late thirties. Long auburn hair, unstyled save for a part in the middle, falls partially over her face; trying to obscure a long scar that runs from her right temple to just below her right cheekbone. Her frame is sturdy: 165 pounds, 5'10", the lean, muscular build of a former dancer gone to less recreational pursuits. The manner in which she carries herself, when she moves, confirms it; while there is a grace there, it has been mostly overwritten by a wary readiness. The starting ghosts of wrinkles form around her dark brown eyes and thin lips, creasing her no-longer-soft light brown skin.
Her clothing is sturdy, and seems to be relatively new; khaki cargo pants, tall black military boots, a woven para-cord bracelet, and a gray tank top, are her 'usual,' along with the occasional addition of a paramedic's bag, a well-worn leather jacket, a sheathed combat knife, and/or a brown leather belt cinched with a steel belt buckle in the shape of a bear.
"You mean if'n I want to sample the best thought-to-be-extinct crotch rots the universe forgot? -Pass-. Also if that was a tranny joke you do realize you said you wanna fuck trannies. Aw, who'm I kidding? You'd fuck a tree if it had a twat and could say 'yes'," Alhambra chuffs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes of her own and tucking one into the corner of her mouth. "Seriously how has nobody put you in a trunk and drove you into the ocean yet? Hazardous waste disposal laws?"
"The saying yes part is not necessary. And I never did say I did not like a good ladyboy." Majors replies with a slight nod of his head. "People that try to kill me generally find that to be a hazardous action to take."
Kethren rubs the bridge of his nose, as the kittenferret glares at Majors, and the tiger lets out a slight growl. His free hand scratches the robo-tiger's head soothingly. "In fact Al, in some regards, you've got more room to act here than I do. I can't do much of anything without the public seeing it as sanctioned by the government I represent. And we *do* try to welcome the tourists."
Sterling stares through Alhambra and Majors, his expression bland but occasionally an eyebrow or the corner of his lip twitches. Kethren's movement catches his eye and his gaze drifts that way. He seems to come back to himself when he hears the tiger's quiet growl. "Tourism, yeh," he says to Kethren. "Y'sure got enough stuff here fer people t'see, eh? The buildings grown outta trees, the weird wildlife, the design on loan from Disney? Lots t'see."
Alhambra takes a drag on the cigarette. "Really? I'd figure get a Mata Hari within fifty feet of you and that'd be -it-. Or a pig in lipstick. Or a balloon in lipstick." She snorts smoke out of her nostrils, apparently amusing herself at this rate at least. "Also come on man, I ain't even a -good- ladyboy. I got shoulders like a linebacker and an ass like a pro wrestler. It ain't flattery no more, 'cause apparently there's more'n one guy in this universe stupid enough to want to take me home." She casts a look over her shoulder. "Hon I already whupped his ass twice, it won't learn him nothin' and it'd make me miss my flight back to Eiru. Also it's way too late on a Sunday to be sellin' tickets again." This is followed by a guffaw. "They still got the reruns of the Tenchi Budowhatzis up on Synapse. My fight's -still- gettin' hits, whut."
"It sadly was not a knife or a gun fight." Majors laments. "I do hope the ballon at least has good ole H1 in it. It tickles when you give it the what for." The Sivadian rolls his eyes.
Kethren chuckles at Al "Yeah, that one's fun to watch now an then." and nods at James "Disney holds no jurisdiction in this universe, we're free to design however we see fit. The city there is what fit this planet."
Sterling sticks his cigarette in his mouth and takes out his PDA. "Y'know, I don't think I ever looked fer fights t'watch on this thing," he says around the cig, poking at the PDA with one finger. He glances aside to Kethren. "I jus' remember when I first came here how I thought the place musta been designed by Disney, what with all the hearts an' the friendly t'the environment jazz."
Alhambra takes a hard drag on her cigarette. "Aw don't get all tetchy, I was just sayin', the way you go on, you figger somebody would go HEY LOOK BOOBS and then stab you in the forehead. I mean if you -actually- got more class'n that I won't blow your cover or nothing but seriously you touch me and I will have to bust yer nose again." James' comment gets a smoky, amused chuff. "Yeah uh look up Tavros Budo Taikai I, man. I made it damn near to the last round but got kicked into muhfuckin' next week by a Neanderthal. An' then Missy Naoi did the Hurricanrana and that shit was epic. She's a little slip of a thing but she can whup alla the ass."
Majors reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver cigarette holder. A black cigarette with a gold filter is fished out and placed between his lips. The Sivadian takes care as he lights it. "Naoi was some sort of thing from where she is from orginally. My ex-wife told me."
Kethren glances at James "Well, look at the place. If you lived here, wouldn't you want it taken care of?"
Sterling nods at Alhambra and continues to poke at his PDA screen. "They still run those things?" he asks. "I saw ya in the stands at that duel thing on Tavros... that was alright. Wonder if we could get somethin' like this Budo goin' on Sanc, maybe just the mercs in HQ. Might be fun." He returns Kethren's look. "I grew up in a city," he says, "lived mostly in cities. Cities made outta concrete an' steel. No matter what y'do t'this place, it looks like it came outta some swords-an'-sorcery flick t'me."
"Whut kind of -thing- did Darth Katrin call Missy Naoi, if I may ask?" Alhambra drawls, heavy brow beetling low. A bull-snort sends some smoke pluming from her nostrils. "Missy Naoi is a sweet girl and I don't care if she does magic spells an' shit she has always been welcome in my house. Sometimes she even helps me take out the bad guys, when she's around, anyhow." She shrugs at James. "My man's been busy with political shits on Tavros, sadly, kinda hard to get him to take enough time off to run a good whuppapalooza, I tell you whut. And there ain't nothin' wrong with treehouses. Treehouses is the shit. Kids don't dream about buildin' concrete bunkers in the backyard, after all. No no not that one, the one before that's the one I was... well I guess you could call it -competin'-."
"Hmm? Interesting things. But I do not like to bring up the ex. Granted did you know I am still getting a paycheck from them. Silly wankers." Majors chuckles lazily. "Hmm gods above do I want to either fuck or kill."
Kethren nods "Sure, but even a concrete city needs to be taken care of."
"Magic spells?" Sterling looks up from his PDA and takes the cigarette, now barely more than a stub, out of his mouth. He finishes it with a deep drag and rolls it between his fingers to put it out. "It's weird enough with aliens an' walkin' talkin' animals and spaceships that're old guys an' giant space whales without addin' magic t'the mix." Majors gets a sly look. "I know the feelin', mate." He rolls the stub around in his hand and glances over to Kethren. "Yeah, I've lived in places with all the green stuff, the recyclin' an' whatnot else. I'm glad somebody wants t'be a garbage man, 'cos I sure don't."
Alhambra grunts quietly. "Well, -you- brought 'er up, man. Like a goddamn chili burp. Leaves a bad taste in your mouth, singes your nose hairs, and then, just when you thought it was gone, here comes the burnin' pain in the ass." She makes a face, and then shakes her unkempt head. "But yeah, I know you wasn't wearing her leash for funsies, so I will not bust on your agates over that shit. And no, you ain't getting a pity fuck so don't you fix them sad bloodshot eyes on me, neither."
"We could make beautiful sub-human babies." Majors gives Alhambra a wink. "But yes.. it does not help when you are sleeping with the heads of two differnt competing empires. Seems like the pair of them have taken a step back. Kethy over here said Vessa is off in some ivory tower working away."
Kethren raises an eyebrow "Who said anything about taking out garbage? I just design the buildings, handle business contracts, deal with bureaucrats, look nice in front of cameras as the face of an empire... Yeah. Vessa's busy. As I said."
"Ah," Sterling says to Kethren, "yer the guy at the top, not one of the poor schlubs who gets his hands dirty." He flicks the butt of his cigarette toward the fence, sending it in a high arc to land beyond the fence somewhere. "I could use a drink," he declares.
"Sorry, I turned down the pimp doc's offer so I done got old like a -real- person. That ship has sailed. Oh -right-, and I would still rather punch myself hard in the tit than have any appendage of yours anywhere near any appendage of mine. I know you ain't used to folks turnin' you down but really you're gonna have to get over this'n," Alhambra drawls, expression darkening at the mention of Vessa. She rumbles a bit in her throat. There is an explosion of annoyed chittering from beyond the fence, and the long grasses erupt into a spiderwork of ripples. A blur, trailing the last guttering wisp of smoke, arcs towards James. A cigarette butt is dropped at his feet, and the blur darts towards Alhambra, ending in a "Rikkkittt-tt-tttch!" chittering black and red kittenferret, shaking a tiny clawed paw towards the merc. Several other kittenferrets pop up at intervals along the fence, chittering in chorus before darting back into the underbrush. "That ain't where that goes, sonny jim," Al drawls, without turning around.
Majors pulls out a big mean looking plasma pistol at the sound of the chittering. "Bloody hell... What are those things?" He asks.
It hardly needs to be said that the kittenferret on Keth's shoulder joins the annoyed chittering. "Those would be ser, one of the indiginous species of this planet. And I'd put the gun away. Nuala here" the tiger gets a pat on her side for emphasis "wouldn't be happy if the natives got shot. Needless to say, neither would Al."
One of Sterling's eyebrows quirks up at the commotion in the grass, and as the cigarette butt is placed before him, he begins to laugh. Once, then again, he attempts to speak, but his laughter is too much and he drops to one knee, his shoulders shaking, his booming laugh rolling across the field.
Alhambra looks at Majors like he's a man who just pulled a plasma pistol on a bunch of chipmunks. "Fuck me, Margaret, are you as blind as you are dense? Keth's been wearing one the entire damn time. It's just a Ser, like he said. Smart as hell, and twice as fast." She points to the one currently sitting atop her hat, a russet-and-black striped little fellow with olive dark eyes and what can only be described as a 'what are you looking at, butthead?' expression. "Also I would kindly appreciate it if you did not attempt to shoot Rikki, as you only gonna miss and I am rather attached to this hat. Not to mention my fuckin' head. You KNOW you are not to murder critters on this place, please don't make this into a paperwork thing. While I do have the authority, given by this -planet-, not the folks on it, I still gotta make a report for the books. An' really while there is a certain cathartic joy in beating your face in when you get outta line, I do not want this to get -that- ugly. So why don't you sheath that sucker and let's not get any stupider'n we already are."
Majors frowns deeply and then slowly puts the gun away. "Little blighters." He grumbles under his breath. "Remind me of the ferretmonkeys on New Luna. These little rats fancy playing a bit of the footie too?"
Kethren reaches up to scratch the kinda agitated calico on his shoulder.
"It's ... it's..." Sterling wipes the back of his hand across his eyes as he fights his laughter. "It's like a nature show crossed with The Muppets crossed with ..." He reaches for the cigarette butt, closing his fingers around it as he starts to laugh again. "I been yelled at fer throwin' these where people don't want 'em, but I never been --" he gazes out into the tall grass beyond the fence, "-- scolded by technicolour ferrets!" He turns to look toward Kethren. "Speakin' o'garbage men, eh?" Majors' words grab his attention. "Footy? There're ferrets that play footy?" He frowns, getting slowly to his feet. "They must use a real small ball..."
"Dude, Rikki beats the computer at -chess-, but if there's food in for it, I'm sure you could get him to soccer or football or street hockey or whut the hell ever," Alhambra drawls, taking a moment to turn around, lean back on the fence, and amusedly watch James' amusement. "If'n they like you enough, they'll come home with you, but it's less like you keepin' them that it is them keepin' you, I tell you whut. And that's why we don't need much in the way of people pickin' up garbage. Most folks pick up their own. Heh."
"Ferretmonkies. Think of a sloth but.. not lazy as hell. Fun little guys. Actually part of a hive mind of some sort. Met one that could talk once. A shame none of them came through the rift with us." Majors replies with a shrug. "Now these little blokes... interesting. Ever tried running anything through a milspec translation program?"
Kethren shakes his head "Not that I'm aware of, anyway. Not that these guys have trouble making their messages clear."
Sterling shakes his head. "I think I've had enough of the weird animals in this place fer the time bein'," he says. "Gotta be about time t'head back t'Sanc." He pinches the cigarette butt between his fingers to make certain it's out, then drops it into his jeans pocket.
"You don't have to translate nothin', if you listen hard enough they like, get their point across with... fancy empathetic brain something or other," Alhambra... explains? Indeed, yes, if one focuses hard enough, Rikki seems to be radiating what can only be described as a tiny facepalm. She tips her hat, Ser included (he just clings to it like he's used to the disruption), to James. "Have a good one, thanks for droppin' by our fine planet and behavin' yourself," she drawls.
"Take care." Majors says with a small nod of his head. "Hmmm... I do wonder if I can find a murderous little bastard." He muses to himself. "Pickering does get stale after a time."
Kethren nods "So long, James."