John Christian Falkenberg meets with Daxabi on Demaria to resolve the trouble she's caused his ship and crew.
Opposing Sun Spaceport - Alhira - Demaria
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A golden statue of mighty Altheor, the commanding warrior who centuries ago led the Demarian fleet to a self-sacrificing victory against the Nall, rises about two hundred feet above the hundred-foot-high black marble dome that contains the Opposing Sun Spaceport.
Once, in 2613, a traffic control mishap led to disaster when a descending freighter had to swerve off course to avoid a launching courier - the freighter slammed into and through Altheor's right fist where it rested on his hip. That fist has never been replaced. Instead, the mangled remnants of the hand (fused with some freighter wreckage) serve as a centerpiece at the heart of the spaceport main terminal.
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10:27 PM - Monday 09 January - 2651 AD
Contents: Exits: Docking Registry <IC> Into the City
Type +shuttle/hire to hire a shuttle from this location.
The IND Equinox comes in for a landing. Daxabi has arrived. Daxabi disembarks from the IND Equinox Falkenberg is seated on a bench near the remnants of Altheor's fist. He is the only human in the vicinity. His attention is focused on an apple, which he is holding in one hand while slowly slicing pieces out of it with a paring knife held in the other.
Daxabi
Daxabi is a Timonae female, rather short for her race, standing about six feet tall. Her skin tone is a rather deep, saturated olive, paling a bit on her palms, cheeks and midriff. Pearl-white locks reach down just past the small of her back, her bangs prominant, framing her indigo eyes. She wears a fitted, green shirt over a black, long-sleeved blouse, and black denim jeans that are stitched with silvery designs. A black mesh scarf is tied loosely about her neck, and there is something that looks like a violin case strapped to her back. Colorful enamel pins and button pins dot the front of the strap, and a set of spaulders rest atop her shoulders. They're small, and segmented rather than layered, seemingly made from a dull, black metal lined with glowing green highlights. Her shins sport the same style of armor in the form of greaves.
Daxabi is trotted out of the Equinox like sulking, disobedient child, and she beelines for Falkenberg. Or, what she has been told /looks/ like Falkenberg. It's clear she's been dreading this little meeting. "Sir," she murmurs, lifting her hand in a weak salute. "I believe I have some... apologizing to do."
Falkenberg does not look up from the apple he is slowly carving. He raises a slice, resting on the blade of the small paring knife, to his mouth. He chews for a moment. "So you're Melania's new friend," he says after a long moment.
Daxabi hesitates. "If she'll allow me to call her that, yes. Sir. Did... she already tell you how I got here? On the Equinox, that is. Sir." She continues to avoid his gaze, staring beyond his shoulder.
Falkenberg raises his eyes to look at Daxabi. "I saw the ship land," he says. "Man in my line of work knows how to keep an eye on the comings and goings at a busy spaceport." He stands up, and now fixes Daxabi squarely in his gaze. "Since you're here, we can settle our business. Follow me." He turns, discarding what remains of the apple in a nearby trash can, and heads into the city.
Daxabi cannot help but flinch, even as he tosses the apple. "I meant... Hn. Yes, sir," she murmurs, clutching the strap on her pack as she follows after him.
Daxabi heads into Central Arena District - Alhira - Demaria. Daxabi has left.
You head into Central Arena District - Alhira - Demaria.
Central Arena District - Alhira - Demaria 17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)
Sandstone spires rise above the central roundabout in the heart of Alhira, the largest city on the planet Demaria, with a plaza in the middle that features a quartet of hundred-foot-tall obsidian statues of felinoid warriors in various battle stances - homages to ancient champions of the four primary noble houses of this desert world: Nightcall Skyglider, Redscar Darksinger, Longleap Pathfinder, and Firewind Sandwalker.
Hovercar traffic is routed along four streets that lead to the upper class neighborhoods, while a bridge arches across an irrigation canal that links the water refinement system with briny Blackpoint Harbor to connect to the waterfront shopping district.
On either side of the plaza are the large spaceport dome and the much larger, much more impressive black stone edifice that contains the city's most popular feature: The combat arena.
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10:47 PM - Monday 09 January - 2651 AD
Contents: Exits: Armorsmith Daxabi
<AL> Arena Lobby
<SP> Spaceport
Falkenberg dodges in and out among the crowd of Demarians, moving quickly. "This way," he says, headed into the arena. Daxabi heads into Arena Lobby - Alhira - Demaria. Daxabi has left. You head into Arena Lobby - Alhira - Demaria.
Arena Lobby - Alhira - Demaria 17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)
Plasma lanterns glow in cages suspended on iron chains that hang from the vaulted ceilings of the spacious lobby that serves the Fangs of Altheor Proving Grounds, also known as the Killing Cage or Bloody Sands. Vendors sell dribgib-on-a-stick, sand eel slices, starfruit ale, and holobanner displays that can be updated with the current fan favorite warrior - a necessity, as warriors come and go with the whims of fate and the luck of their opponents. A wide tunnel entrance framed by a marble snout that bristles with fangs takes visitors toward the combat ring.
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10:48 PM - Monday 09 January - 2651 AD
Contents: Exits: Armorsmith Daxabi <RP> <CR> Combat Ring
<O> Out
Falkenberg pauses in the lobby, and turns to focus his attention on Daxabi. "Ever been here before?" he asks mildly.
Daxabi is quite obviously new to Kittyland. She stares at the vendors and their wares for a good long moment before replying, "No, sir. I suppose I was a bit sheltered." It's then that she realizes this is some kind of arena, and she turns to face him. "You're not going to kill me, are you? Sir?" Her tone is unreadable.
Falkenberg chuckles. It's unclear from his reaction whether he wanted her to think that or not. "They don't usually let offworlders fight here. They're not even big fans of letting us watch, and we'll have to sit in the commoners' section. But there's no more sublime form of entertainment than watching two giant cats try their best to kill each other." He grins, and then heads over to a betting window. He eyes the list of fighters on the screen above the window, and then says, "Give me...500 credits on...Firemane, in the third bout." He slides the credits across the counter, and takes the betting slip that is returned to him. "Care to place a bet?" He asks, turning to Daxabi.
Daxabi studies him closely. Then pauses. "We're... We're going to bet on a fight?" The Timonae can't tell if this is some sort of punishment or not; she fidgets, but she's not about to deny Falkenberg. "Er, sure. 50 credits on..." She squints, sliding the credits, "Bloodmaw." Another pause, then she asides, "I don't quite have a lot of money at the moment, sir. A thief recently stole my damn wallet. You may know him as Mern..."
Falkenberg laughs at that. "Ah, that kid does have spirit," he says. "Fine, I'll cover your bet." He slides the money across the counter, and takes the betting slip, which he hands to Daxabi. "Bloodmaw is a 14-to-1 underdog," he says. "Should be a nice payoff if he wins...I've seen Firemane fight before though. She's a killer, that one." He grins. "Come on, the bout is starting soon. We need to move down through the arena to the Commoners' Section. Stay with me, and if anyone gives us any trouble, let me handle it."
Daxabi looks pleasantly surprised. "Thank you. I... ah..." Whatever she was about to say will have to wait. She follows Falkenberg down into the arena, keeping her head low. Demarians certainly give them looks. "You know a thing or two about these fights, then, sir. Begging your pardon, but, well, Melania gave me the impression that I'd be lucky if you didn't shoot me."
B
Falkenberg grins. "Who says I'm not going to shoot you?" With that, he heads down through the combat ring.
You head into Arena Combat Ring - Alhira - Demaria.
Arena Combat Ring - Alhira - Demaria 17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)
Stone blocks encircle a broad pit of orange-yellow sand where combatants face each other, often in bouts to the death, here in the Fangs of Altheor Proving Grounds. Loops of iron chain dangle from the vaulted ceilings above the pit, with hooked and barbed melee weapons hanging within jumping reach of the warriors. The middle of the pit angles down in a sort of inverted cone - like a funnel - where the arena's mascot (an always hungry sand eel known to patrons as Gritty) waits to make a meal of unwary combatants.
Tiered benches rise around the arena with ample seating for commoners, while nobles have reserved balconies from which to observe the action.
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11:20 PM - Monday 09 January - 2651 AD
Contents: Exits:
<PR> Prep Room
<C> Commoners
<LO> Lobby
<N> Nobility
Daxabi arrives from Arena Lobby - Alhira - Demaria. Daxabi has arrived.
Falkenberg moves into the Commoners' seating area. You head into Commoner Seating - Alhira - Demaria.
Commoner Seating - Alhira - Demaria 17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)17:09, 10 January 2012 (UTC)
Black stone benches carved with intricate figures of Demarian warriors locked in combat against each other form several tiers that rise from the central combat ring toward the vaulted rafters in the upper reaches of the stadium.
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11:21 PM - Monday 09 January - 2651 AD
Contents: Exits:
<CR> Combat Ring
From Arena Combat Ring - Alhira - Demaria, Daxabi heads into Commoner Seating - Alhira - Demaria. Daxabi arrives from Arena Combat Ring - Alhira - Demaria. Daxabi has arrived.
Falkenberg takes a seat on a bench in the second row. The fights today must not be too exciting, as only a few Demarians are scattered among the various rows.
"Wh'..." It's now that Daxabi just shuts the hell up, and finds a seat beside Falkenberg. If it wouldn't seem too impolite, she'd likely sit a few seats away.
A few more Demarians filter into the Commoners' Area, but the crowd is still relatively light. One large cat sits directly in front of Falkenberg, completely obscuring his view. The Pirate sighs, and slides down the bench a bit, gesturing for Daxabi to follow. "Now," he says. "Tell me about these Timonae mercenaries who shot holes in my ship."
Daxabi spends a few seconds gazing up at the big Demarian, then scoots down. "The Vasir? They... Mm." She fumbles over her words, shifting her gaze from Falkenberg to the ring and back a few times. Trying to stall. "What has Melania told you... if I may ask? Sir?"
A low cheer...more like a growl... passes through the crowd as the combatants enter the combat ring. On one side stands Firemane, a large Demarian female with bluish-gray fur and a bright red mane. On the other side stands Bloodmaw, whose fur is jet black except for a red patch about his jaw. He is somewhat shorter than Firemane. The combatants face each other, then turn and bow toward the balcony where the nobles sit.
"Not much," Falkenberg says. "They are from Antimone. They tried to kill you after you did a job with them. Melania helped you. They shot at MY ship. You two ran to Earth, and my good friend Dr. Nirali has somehow promised to make them leave you both alone."
Daxabi sighs and nods. "That's an accurate recounting, yes. I worked for them for a period. Nyxeris Vasir himself. It was a nice job for a while. Good pay, lots of praise. People sought me out for advice. Then management changed, and I became... displeased with my treatment." The moment Bloodmaw appears in the ring, Daxabi loses all composure and brandishes her competitive streak with cheer. It's nothing like a growl, of course. Then she sits back down. "Dr. Nirali has been very helpful," she adds quietly.
With a sound somewhat like the ringing of a gong, the match begins. Firemane wields a mace in one hand and a shield in the other. Bloodmaw carries a spear and a large net. The two opponents circle each other warily, each making feints toward the other as they feel each other out.
"I'm sure she has," Falkenberg says absently, his attention focused on the match. "Exactly what kind of work did these Vasir do, and what did you do for them? Lani tells me you're an armorsmith. Was that the extent of your work for them?"
Daxabi keeps her eyes locked on Bloodmaw. "I realize that I have been nothing but trouble. I don't know why Melania decided to help me out. It was not my intention to get anyone else involved," she apparently feels the need to point out." The crowd erupts as Bloodmaw takes a clawed swing at Firemane's jaw. "You know... The Vasir did a number of things. I'm not completely clear on it. I was simply to engineer. I think they did a bit of drug running. And yes, I design armor. I was working on something quite extensive, and have been tweaking it during my stay on Lani's ship."
In the ring, Bloodmaw jabs repeatedly at Firemane with his spear, but his main intent seems to be to keep Firemane at bay, rather than seriously injure her. A skilled observer will see from the way the two fighters move that this may be a mismatch.
Falkenberg glances at Daxabi, then returns his attention to the match. "Melania is of the opinion that you could be useful to me," he says at last. "This of course would mean keeping you alive. Do you think you can be useful, Daxabi?"
"I've found that humility doesn't exactly pay, so yes, I can be useful. My armor is top-notch. This is what I've been told, anyway. I've already put together some suits from what I could take with me. If you need more convincing, ask Melania to show you her nightingale armor at some point," Daxabi replies, still rather tense. As if, at any second, Falkenberg may whip out a pistol.
Apparently tiring of the game she's been playing, Firemane parries one of Bloodmaw's spear thrusts, using her shield to knock the spear aside as she steps in closer to Bloodmaw, before pivoting on one foot and rotating inward, momentarily placing her back toward Bloodmaw as she swings the mace around to hit him from the other side. The spear clatters to the ground as the mace finds its target on the side of Bloodmaw's head. The blow does not kill him, but it knocks him sideways, spraying blood onto the sand of the arena. A loud growl moves through the crowd as the first blood of the match is spilled.
"Okay, then," Falkenberg says. "For the trouble you've caused, I want the best armor you can currently produce. If I am satisfied with its quality, we will be square. And if it's acceptable to the people I work for, you may even find a place on my crew, if you're interested. Can you handle yourself in a fight? Do you have other skills besides armorsmithing?"
Daxabi exhales, rubbing her brow. "I... entertain," she mumbles. "Dance. Play music. But I can defend myself, yes. I use whips." She taps the segmented, metal whip wrapped around her middle. "And I can use firearms if need be, sir." At the blow to Bloodmaw's head, she leaps to her feet and yells her displeasure. Then sits back down, sheepishly.
Sensing her opponent's weakness, Firemane casts aside her weapons and leaps at the disoriented Bloodmaw with a gutteral yowl. The two cats now tear at each other with their bare claws. Fur and blood fly freely.
Falkenberg grunts. "Entertain, eh? Well, I suppose that has its uses. But I can certainly use someone who can make quality armor. We'll see how it goes." He gestures toward the fight. "I think you're about to owe me fifty credits," he says. "Anyway, you and Melania can take another day or two to lie low if you want. After that I expect you both on Tomin Kora. I'll have made arrangements to assure the Vasir can't touch you there. Seems they may have forgotten who rules the Fringe. I need to see about arranging a reminder for them."
Daxabi slumps back in her seat in relief, despite Bloodmaw clearly losing. "Were it only money I owed," she muses, then smiles slightly. "I cannot thank you enough. Yes yes, 'don't thank me yet', but I'm still grateful for the opportunity. I did not think I'd be alive for this long." She lifts a brow at the mention of arrangments but asks nothing more of him. "I'll let Melania know. Maybe she'll stop being grumpy at me."
Firemane clearly has the advantage over her wounded opponent, tearing into his flesh with her claws. Standing over him now, she leans in over his neck, and with her fangs, bites deep into Bloodmaw's throat, tearing it open. As her opponent gurgles his last breath on the ground before her, Firemane stands triumphant, both clawed fists in the air over her head as the crowd roars its satisfaction. Blood now runs from *her* maw.
Falkenberg nods. "All right then. I need to be going. I'll see you both on Tomin Kora no more than three days from now." He stands and prepares to leave.