Shaco lowered his shiv, still very cautious about The Card Master. However, it looked like he understood. "My apologies, Fate. You know I can be a bit chaotic sometimes!" Shaco laughed. The Jester curiously turned his attention towards the tavern. "What happened here?" Shaco asked, noticing more police forces appearing at the tavern.
Post by thegrandduelist on Jan 22, 2013 23:32:23 GMT -5
Fiora gave a sideways glance to Jax who had appeared to strike a conversation with her.
"And vat brings you here...Grandmaster..." She asked narrowing her eyes, she was on guard, and easily suspicious of others, especially when they claimed to be the better duelist. No one was more superior then her. ((...This is right? Right? O_o.))
Last Edit: Jan 22, 2013 23:32:36 GMT -5 by thegrandduelist
Post by Tekun Valos on Jan 26, 2013 23:25:08 GMT -5
January 26th. 23 CLE
The Reserve had since reopened since the investigation. Even though the day was nice, considering it was nice for Zaun, it was bitterly cold out. The sun never shines in Zaun. Tekun was rather displeased with how well the investigation went over and refused to comment on it...he had a feeling he knew what happened.
Post by Eli Crohill on Jan 29, 2013 21:09:51 GMT -5
It was cold out, really cold. Eli had been moving about the city, looking into a few requests for work. Nothing very interesting or high paying, just a few easy jobs, busy work. It could wait though, it was cold outside and he needed to warm up. He knew just the place. The door swung open and Eli stepped into the Reserve, wearing a cloak and other typical clothing, not his armor. He took of his cloak and hung it up, then removed his pistol and ammunition belt and placed them on the weapons rack. He walked up to the bar and sat down, waiting for the barkeeper to notice him so he could buy a drink.
Last Edit: Jan 29, 2013 21:10:22 GMT -5 by Eli Crohill
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Tekun Valos on Jan 30, 2013 4:25:17 GMT -5
Valos wasn't in just yet but there was someone tending the bar. A man with short blonde hair without a mark upon his face. Surely he could assist whoever needed anything for the time being. It was a slow day so far.
Post by Eli Crohill on Jan 31, 2013 18:55:52 GMT -5
Eli raised an eyebrow at the man requesting lodging in exchange for work. If he was that desperate, why not sell his gloves or visor? They would probably fetch a good price. He looked at the man behind the bar. "I'll take some scotch if you have it." He placed a few coins on the table.
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 1, 2013 0:51:14 GMT -5
The tavern had fallen quiet in the past half hour, the only sound that of the city's machine ambience. The quiet was broken when a pair of delivery men, the ones in charge of bringing the Reserve's Food, came in through the door, gasping rapidly and sweating profusely, reported to the staff in charge.
"We've... we've come to inform you that this week's delivery will be delayed due to circumstances beyond our control." They had looked like they had come from a battlezone, clothes torn and dirty. A few of the staff murmur among themselves.
"The shipment... it was stolen..." The other man said, collapsing in exhaustion. The people around though, were not very much surprised- robbery on the streets of Zaun was fairly common.
The bartender in charge looked to him before he considered him. He pulled out a small bottle of scotch, a local Zaunite brand, and passed it to Eli with a small glass.
"Normally we would, but considering the recent issues that we've encountered...what with the murder...we're being wary. But i'll tell you what. I've got a load of dishes that could be done in the back. Boss might be a bit testy but I'll bend the rules. I'm confident in the wards here."
The bartender in charge look towards the two who entered.
"Are you two okay at least? What the hell happened?"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 1, 2013 11:58:19 GMT -5
The man was assisted by one of the Reserve staff in getting his companion to a chair. Both of them were young zaunite men, adorned in the Food Grower Corporation’s uniform, working in what counted as clean work in the city.
The one who stayed standing took a seat, and was afforded a glass of water. His hand visible trembled, a clear sign of his harrowing day. Violence was common place in the lower city, and it took acts of extreme brutality to shake a population like the zaunites. “It was... it was nothing like I’ve ever seen...” He took a big gulp, calming himself down.
“We were near the end of our shift, with the Reserve and one other place to go before we went home... They... they were like demons... those winged mercenaries who live in the high, untouchable places. They fell upon us, picked us off one by one... Then they argued among themselves and... Oh gods... they took Morty... they took him...” He covered his face in shame.
((Let this serve as the hook to a new thread))
Last Edit: Feb 1, 2013 11:58:45 GMT -5 by Taminah Visari
Post by Eli Crohill on Feb 1, 2013 18:49:22 GMT -5
Eli had poured himself a shot of scotch when the delivery men arrived. He quickly downed it and turned to face them. Looks like he had found a job. Hopefully it would pay fairly well, though, even if it didn't, he was bored and needed something to do. These 'winged mercenaries' seemed like a challenge. Besides, he hated people that preyed on civilians, only weak cowards did that. "Winged 'mercenaries' attacked you? This sounds interesting. I'll help out, I don't much care what you pay me, this is a matter of honor for me. Those cowards don't deserve to be called mercenaries. Tell me everything you know."
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 1, 2013 21:12:14 GMT -5
The delivery man, Andrew from his employee nametag, spoke to Eli and Asimov, seeing that they seemed determined to do something about a stolen food delivery.
“I... I used to be in a gang, till I got a clean job with the Food Corps. I heard stories about scientists selling their super soldier augmentations. We had a friend, a rich kid, go and try it- next time I saw him he had these wings on his back, and he was flying.” Andrew explained, before pausing, trying to think of something that might help them.
“They’re called the Dark Wings... bunch of rich bored kids, or mercenaries who need an edge, who want something to make them stand out. They’re new, but they’re carving out territory on the ground like any other gang, taking tribute or wiping out rivals... except they can’t be attacked, considering where they live.” He looked out a window and up, indicating the general idea that flying mercenaries lived really high in the city.
“That’s all most people know, really. You cross one, you cross them all. They pluck you up, and drop you onto one of the pointy pieces of architecture in the city. If you want to know more, you’d need to ask the gangs at war with them.” Andrew let out a tired sigh.
“Look... The Food Shipment, it’s pretty normal to test new recruits in hits on mundane stuff. Gangs get their food by taking shipments- it’s not really a big deal. But they took one of us, for some reason we can’t figure out. If you could find out what happened to Morty, that’d be good, so we can tell his parents...” He looked at his partner.
“Look, I’m gonna take my partner home alright? Don’t get yourselves killed. The Wings have plenty of hardware... and are a bunch of sadists.”
A relatively slow day at the Reserve; some people were celebrating, others drowning their sorrows. Lights flickered off and on as the irregular power outages played with the electricity, filling the bar with the skipping music of a jukebox playing a sad lonely song that a nearby drunk was singing to.
The door opened and the customer bell rang, indicating a new arrival. A few heads near the door turned, and they beheld a young woman, out of her teens but not quite a full adult, arriving in a sulking demeanor. She caught a few more stares when they could see under her brown chem-resistant jacket she wore the glove-tight black skinsuit of a dancer from Botulax, mostly showing off the shape of her well developed legs without revealing skin or her athletic upper body. Her hair was a messy ponytail, from exposure to the chemicals of that bar, and her absurdly thick black make-up was slowly pouring down her cheek.
She went immediately to the washroom, and emerged with a cleaner face and orderly hair. She took a seat at a far corner of the tavern, and just as she finally got to sit down another man came into the Reserve.
A Noxian businessman, by his sharp attire and rather rotund physique, as well as the oiled, swept back grey hair and the arrogant sneer, entered the tavern with a gait. The man had a ruby topped black cane, his walk due more to his weight than any disability. He looked about, and spied the young dancer waving to him. He came over and passionately kissed the girl who was young enough to be his daughter perhaps- their relationship hinted at by envious or disgusted patrons as sustained by the man’s lust and wealth and the girl’s greed... or desperation.
The young girl, serious and taciturn a moment ago, greeted this older man with a joyous smile and sweet, loving words. They sit and talk a bit, before the man speaks of ‘business deals’ to be resolved, that he would return within the evening... for their pleasure. The girl nodded, her smile dissolving away into a morose indifference as the man left, a satisfied, almost disgusting grin on his face for the night to come.
Rather than do as she was told and book a room for the night, she simply sat alone, tired and quiet, brooding over her cold coffee. The girl must have ‘that’ kind of story, or life, and she seemed, like so many others, left without choice in the matter.
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