|
Despite the fact that it is a Sunday, the Red Eclipse Headquarters is considerably busy. Mercs, in various states of hung over and disheveled, are heading between the various rooms in the HQ. A male Falari, bearing at least three people's worth of electronic equipment, is making motions over other folks and furniture in a distinctive 'sweeping for bugs' motion. Through the smoky soundproofed polycarbonate wall of the nearest interview cubicle, Joca's distinct silhouette is gesticulating in a fashion that usually connotes yelling. Not at any one in general, it seems, but the other silhouettes in the cubicle appear to be taking feverish notes on datapads.
Micky has escaped the wrath of the interior and lodged himself at the receptionist desk. He's probably a crappy receptionist. He's cleared all the receptionist stuff off the table and loaded it with a small arsenal and a milk jug full of a clear liquid. It's either booze or some sort of solvent. Probably both. He's cleaning a disassembled shotgun. All the guns on the table are painfully obviously unloaded. There are no bullets nearby.
Well, Micky's about to get a customer. Maybe. An immense figure steps through the door, shrouded in a cloak of Lyiri make. The cloak quite nearly takes on the exact colors of the door that closes behind its wearer who is nearly tall enough to be an Aukami, but far too broad. The newcomer doesn't even look at the receptionist, but seems to stand perfectly still for a moment, the sound of sniffing coming from beneath the hood. After only a heartbeat, and without invitation, the being moves purposely forward in the general direction of Jocaira and will continue doing so unless accosted in some way.
The two other silhouettes in the room both seem to try and get to the door at the same time. One of them, a short (for a Hekayti) male, literally vaults over the waist high wall to the mess, grabs a bottle out of the cabinet, and bolts off into the barracks. The other, either a human male of German descent or a displaced Waldheimer, leaves with more grace but equal haste, conferring with the Falari before heading into the VR room. Joca's silhouette lights up a cig, and the sound of exasperated panting can be heard under the general din, if one's ears are sharp enough.
Micky considers first the heavily armed cloaked figure and then the gaggle of mercs in the far room. He uses all his receptionist training to open whatever doors are necessary and broadcast over the intercom or whatever, "Incomin'."
The hood of the cloak turn Micky's way for a moment, a glint that could be teeth showing from the darkness beneath it. The hood nods, then turns away to move through the door, ignoring the chaos until he arrives within a couple of yards of the Boss. "Missss Jocairrra," rumbles a deep voice from within the cloak, "I rrresceived yourrr messssage..."
Jocaira picks that distinct voice up RIGHT away, and with an absolute FLURRY of movements she stubs out the cigarillo and un-rumples her new-penny colored curls. She clears her throat, and drains whatever was in the mug on the desk in the cubicle. "Ahn, please, come in, come in," she says, voice a little strained but genuinely welcoming. "Mickee! Conference, if you please."
Micky doesn't move that fast and flurriously, but he doesn't ask any questions either. Gear gets stuffed into either his duffel bag or secreted about his person. The jug, after a moment's thought, goes into the duffel bag. The duffel bag gets slung over his shoulder. The man and duffel abandon their post to head over to the boss's call for conferencing.
Razorback steps through the door and moves aside when he realizes that someone else will be coming. He lifts his paws to lower the hood of his cloak, his ears canted forward. "I came as quickly as I could when I rrresceived yourrr messssage," he says, "I have my own perrrssonal issssues with the Collective and would like to know all that you can tell me."
Jocaira inclines her head, before sinking into the seat on the other side of the table. "Yes, I 'ad recalled sat you were opposed to se transport of slaves and sought it may be of interest to you to know sat se Collective, I believe, is attempting to press-gang us into doing so. I do not 'ave sis for -certain-; howevair, se 'job' 'as been identified as one million plus credits' worth of us, making cargo runs, for free. Cargo runs sat Monsieur Miklos, who sey presently 'ave in custody, was 'squeamish' about making. In accordance wis your requests, Red Eclipse Mercenaire does not knowingly transport slaves." She pauses, and then gestures to Micky. "Monsieur Mickee, sis is Secretaire Razorback Cliffwalkair of se Orion Confederacy, our most -esteemed- investor."
"Yes, ma'am," says Micky somewhat awkwardly before he just as awkwardly sets his duffel bag down and even more awkwardly stands off to the side somewhere. After a moment or two, his blood shot eyes start to roam the conference room in search of snacks.
The Cliffwalker offers a slight bow towards both humans before considering the news provided. "I have no grrreat love forrr Missterrr Gyferrren," Razorback says thoughtfully, "But these pirrratess musst be sstopped. Have you arrrrrrived at any ssorrrt of accorrrd with them? What is yourrr currrrrrent sstate of negotiation?"
"I 'appen to 'ave a quantity of love for Monsieur Gyferen," Joca admits, leaning back in her chair and toying with a delicate lace-patterned silver ring on a chain around her neck. "'e no longer trafficks in sapients, and works for me. Se Collective, I sink, 'ave taken offense to sis. Sey murdered 'is parents, and transferred all of se debt 'is faser owed sem unto Mik. And now, unto me. Sey wanted me to meet sem in sere space, on sere ship, and I declined. Se messenger is presently ready to mediate. I 'ave let sem know I needed to make arrangements for transports and would be providing sem a choice of coordinates in neutral space." She drums her fingers on the table, rings clacking together as she does so. "I 'ad planned upon making it more expensive for sem to come and collect from Mik, but sen to protect me... and all of us, 'e went off on 'is own." This statement is accompanied by an eyeroll. No, Micky, there are no snacks.
Micky doesn't actually sigh, but he does manage to rub his stomach and look around more. Then, he says, "Million hek-bucks plus whatever vigorish them Auk bookie's run."
Razorback thinks for a few moments and says. "In that casse," he says quietly, as if forming an idea, "You may use my perrrssonal vessssel. Get a neutrrral meeting place. When you meet to make the exschange, you will be interrrdicted by vessssels of the Orrrion Confederrrascy Fleet. These vessssels will prrrevent the pirrratess frrrom esscaping and boarrrd the sshipss on ssusspiscion of sslave rrrunning. The fact that my sship is a rrregissterrred scivilian trrransporrrt with the Confederrrascy plasces it underrr ourrr jurrrissdiction. Alsso, I will give Missterrr Gyferrren ssome prrroperrrty on Materrri Ssyna, which will grrrant him scitizensship. Thiss means that any act againsst him will be an act of pirrrascy againsst the Confederrrascy, to which we can rrresspond militarrrily."
Jocaira inclines her head again. "It will be as you wish, Secretaire. I heartily appreciate your assistance, and would not ask you to take any unwanted risks for what 'as become partially a personal mattair. But you may, by whatevair means please you, enjoy se opportunity to get some exercise upon some folks wis whose business choices we all seem to be in disagreement wis. It is a very -brilliant- plan and I sink will be a -lovely- surprise gift for sem." She is smiling, very broadly, and very sharply, like someone's just put a great big Christmas goose on the table and then left the room.
Over by the wall or whatever, Micky bites a chapped lip while he rolls his eyes.
The Cliffwalker nods slowly, satisfied. "Verrry well," the big Demarian says, dipping his head, "I will make arrrrrrangementss with memberrrs of the Fleet and await worrrd of a time and plasce. We will await a ssignal jusst outsside ssenssorrr rrrange. Ssend me a code phrrrase that you will trrransmit to us sso that the pirrratess will not nescessssarrrily have time to rrreact. And be carrreful." He offers a slight bow to the pair, turning towards the door before pulling up his hood in preparation for making a discreet return to Materi Syna.
Jocaira bows deeply in return. "You will 'ave a briefing 'and delivered as per our arrangements very soon," she says, and then peers at Micky. "What?"
"Miss Joca, I thought you might like..." an Aukami says as he almost runs smack into Razor as he is entering and the Cliffwalker is exiting. His words are cutoff completely and both mugs of coffee are dropped to the floor. The Aukami turns around on one heel and quickly walks back in the direction he just came from.
"Waste of good coffee," answers Micky in a deft change of subject as he watches the Aukami head for the hills.
Jocaira watches the exchange with completely open puzzlement, and then appears to do some mental mathematics. "...beeg kitty... doesn't like slavers..." After a brief, completely straight-faced moment, Joca proceeds to stand up, turn to the corner of the soundproofed conference cubicle, and laugh her ass off.
There is a long moment before Jano slowly returns, his steps deliberate and he turns his head this way and that, making sure the big kitty is really gone. "Miss Joca..." he squeeks as he peers into the office.
Micky gives Joca a really odd look at the laughing outburst. He shrugs it off, recovers his jug of the good stuff from trusty duffel. He goes over to scope out the coffee mugs next, selecting one at random which he fills from the jug. The jug goes back in the bag.
Jocaira gets a hold of herself quite quickly, clearing her throat and drawing a new cigarillo as she'd stubbed the last one to oblivion when Razor arrived. "Non, really, -what- were you rolling eyes at, Monsieur Mickee? I know it was flowery talk but LOOK, I know 'ow to speak it and se classy people -like- it when you speak sis way, ehn?" She clears her throat again, and looks at Jano, ocean-colored eyes all wide and innocent. "Yes, Monsieur Jano? Did you 'ave an accident?" Snrrrk. Cough.
Jano looks down at his pants, over to the spilt coffee and back to Joca, "Will the big kitty be coming back any time soon?" he asks.
"Mostly wishing that my other commanders could bullshit themselves into so many assets so quickly. Would have made some of my life experiences less scarring, boss," says Micky as he sips from his mug. This causes his eyeballs to sweat some. He coughs, continues, "Overkill. I like overkill." He shakes his head, bemused, "Hell, assets from another organization. For free."
Jocaira sits casually on the edge of the meeting table, one leg up, and one leg down. "Is no -bullsheet-. What you must come to undairstand, Monsieur Mickee, is sat much of my success in life comes from learning what people like and do not like, and making my moves accordingly. Bedroom, boardroom, it does not mattair. Also sis Commerce Collective is making it -so very easy- for me to find people who do not like sem? And Monsieur Razorback -is- our most esteemed investor, and I knew of 'is dislike for slavers because a condition of our alliance was sat -we do not carry slaves-. I sought 'e would be interested in knowing sat se Collective might be trying to -make us-. So. You may want to consider career change if you 'ave not already, Monsieur Jano. And clean up mess on floor."
Jano simply stares at Joca, "You're stuck with me. If you want me to stay here so the big kitty won't eat my other hand...I'll do that, but I don't think you completely understand why Mik sent me to you." He heads out of the room for a brief moment and returns with a mop.
Making weighing the balance motions with his hands, Micky says, "However you wanna call it, boss. If it works, it works." He squints at Jano over the top of the coffee mug he liberated from the floor. "Uh?" He taps his chin. "No...maybe? Nah, that can't be it...uh...I got it! No, doesn't make sense either...Ah, yeah, he couldn't afford a singing telegram?"
"I'm calling it. It is not bullsheet. I know what I am doing. You go around making bullsheet deals eventually you get se bull," Joca huffs, taking a drag on her cigarillo. She squints at Jano. "Okay non, you said you usually just run slaves, break knees, and *squeak* torture. I am making se recommendation to you to take se slave running off of your list of skills. I know I am stuck wis you, believe me." Smoke puffs forth as she talks. "And 'e is Secretaire Razorback, not 'beeg kitty'. You are not baby child. Also I do not -completely- undairstand why Mik sent you to me, but I am -positive- it comes from se same place sat sought I was a delicate flowair who could not 'andle doing what needs to be done to se MCC."
Jano looks her over slowly, "Okay then, as long as we understand each other." He begins mopping the floor as he speaks, "I used to run slaves. I haven't run anything like that since Mik stopped. He's been looking out for me, paid my bill after the hand. I didn't have the money to get a new one, and I didn't want to be a burden...which is why I haven't. Gotten a new one that is." He pauses a moment and continues to mop. "The last time we ran slaves was when we took over the Laughing Fox and sold them to the Thull."
"Would've lost that bet," shrugs Micky as he goes over to his trusty duffel bag and continues to take painful looking sips of his drink.
"Good, because I don't want to get into any shit over it. Tch. Well when we get Mik out of sis feel free to burden 'im wis getting you anusser 'and. I am going to burden se 'ell out of 'im myself for all of sis godsdamned trouble," Joca says, hissing cigarillo smoke from her nostrils. "What bet is sis, Mickee?"
"The ki...the Demarian that just left certainly left an impression on me to stop what I was doing," Jano says softly. He finishes with the one handed mopping and goes to put it away. "If you don't mind I think I'll go lay down now." He shouts from the other room.
"That ol' boy couldn't afford a musical message so he sent this one armed hero instead," says Micky before he collects his bag and heads out. "Hard to play the fiddle with one hand. Or was it a kazoo? Had to be mobile. A flute?" He wanders off mulling this over. "Bassoon? A harpsichord. Now, that'd be something."
Jocaira also exits the conference room. "You can lay down. It is fine. You can get a new 'and, don't worry about it. If you are not doing what 'e doesn't like, 'e won't eat you," she says, in moderately soothing tones. As soothing as -she- can get, anyways. Micky gets a smirk. "Yes, well, I'm certain Mik sought it was appropriate, and touching, and... I don't know. While 'e is very dear to me, I am going to very much slap 'im in se face for sis mess."
Jano nods and heads off in the direction of the sleeping quarters without another word.