*This is my first B5 fanfic. I hope you like it. It involves two of my favourite B5 characters, and some interesting stuff here and there. It probably sucks but I wanna hear your opinions anywayz. ^^ By the way, none of the characters belong to me (except Adrian). Enjoy!*
~*TRUE INTENTIONS*~
PROLOGUE
BABYLON 5
YEAR: 2260, PAST
Beautiful. The tavern smelled like the exotic fumes of beers, ales and other alcoholic compounds as well as the stench of unclean men and women, unclean floors and other types of smells Marcus didn't even want to search into just now. He didn't want to know, anyway.
They called it Down Below, a name called by men and women who lived under the nice, safe enviorments within Babylon 5. Under all the hundred decks of a safe and ideal and nice enviorment was the dangerous, bum-like and unpleasant part of the station. Those who could not afford lived down there; you can get practically anything down here. That was why he liked it down here. The perfect place for information.
But anything can happen down here. Anything at all. Most of the crimes were down here, most of the murders, the theft, anything happened down here. Anyone who was in trouble with the law was down here; anyone who was a fugitive or a terrorist. The perfect place to stash out to plan to bomb the station or to assasinate some ambassador figure. Sometimes, Marcus Cole thought to himself, the station should have never made all these corridors. But anyhow, it was time to get down to business.
He sat down on the bar where a middle-aged and obviously drunk man sat, craddling his ale like a young baby. Gray hair, creased face, miserable life. But under all the sour and bitter remnants of his life was a devious and sly man; the perfect man for any updates or information. He often came to him for some information to dig. Better than staying up there.
"Local synthale," he ordered to the bartender, a Drazi, who went straight to work. He turned to his friend informat. "Hello, Adrian," he greeted pleasantly, recieving the synthale and holding it in his hand, glazing at the rich yellow look before looking back at him. "How's life treating you?"
Adrian snorted at the thought and took a sip out of his glass of alien ale. Green and strange, he gave a lucid look at him before putting the glass down. Drunk, already. And it wasn't even ten yet. "The usual," he replied lowly.
"Anything going on that might interest me?"
"Not much," he replied, glaring at his green drink. "I heard the Amsterdam gang's just gone to pick up some cargo from an Earth shipment." Marcus leaned closer. The Amsterdam gang; known for their stealth in weaponry and need of money. Just his luck. He already dealt with one of them and ended up in Medlab under Dr. Stephen Franklin's medical aid.
"What kind of cargo?" Marcus pressed.
"Oh, maybe some food, clothing," he replied wearily, barking in laughter. "Yeah, maybe some new sacks! Haw, haw, haw."
"You're terrible, Adrian," Marcus claimed, frowning at him. "Now tell me, what are in the cargoes that they have to pick up?"
"Artifacts," he gruffawed. "They want to steal the artifacts and sell 'em to the block markot." The ale was getting to him now. Too bad. Marcus frowned at the two thoughts. "Artifacts?" he asked himself. "Only the Interplanetary Expeditions do those---oh, i have to tell Ivanova this piece of info."
"That ch---ick for a number too?" Adrian asked him stupidly. He gruffawed. "You're looooosing tuch with yorsel, Marcos. Damn, you really tink you can get on with the commandrrrr...?" Marcus snorted at his friend's drunk words and his accusation as he raised to his feet. "Better than you can," he told him, leaving the bar.
"So, your so-called friend said this?" Ivanova asked, her tone cool and crisp as she sat in her living room of her quarters. It was pass ten already and she was back in her civilian clothes, or was it her night clothes?, her brownish-red hair down from her usual tight ponytail braid. Before her, Marcus sat. "Hmmm, he has a point. There is an IPX ship headed this way and should arrive tomorrow at the latest. I should put a warrent up---"
"No, don't," Marcus insisted. "You do, and the gang will certainly do all they can to get the cargo while they can. No, you're going to have to go up on a different approach. We should try it my way." She laughed at the thought; he frowned althought personally liking it. "Did I do something wrong?"
"The last time we tried it your way, we nearly got killed," she pointed out. "Okay, Mister Wise-Guy. You want it your stealthy, devious and cunning way, go right ahead. You do your way and I'll do it my way." Now it was his turn to laugh; she frowned at him. "I fail to see how that was very amusing."
"You? Go Down Below?" he asked again. "You'll be recodnized!" This was a laughable matter. The well-known Commander Susan Ivanova of Earthforce, number two on the ship, in civilian clothes and walking around the shady and dark dephts of Babylon 5? It was so funny, it was laughable! Aw, the pain in his gut over laughing.
"So?" she asked, clearly accepting it as a challage.
"You'll get yourself killed!" he protested.
"I fail to see the connection," she admitted. "But I am Number Two; I have my ways." "Then we'll see who can get those cargoes safe first," he declared. She raised her eyebrows. "Are you challanging me?" she asked her in her command tone.
"Like bloody hell I am!"
"Then so be it," she told him. "May the best man win!"
~*TRUE INTENTIONS*~
PROLOGUE
BABYLON 5
YEAR: 2260, PAST
Beautiful. The tavern smelled like the exotic fumes of beers, ales and other alcoholic compounds as well as the stench of unclean men and women, unclean floors and other types of smells Marcus didn't even want to search into just now. He didn't want to know, anyway.
They called it Down Below, a name called by men and women who lived under the nice, safe enviorments within Babylon 5. Under all the hundred decks of a safe and ideal and nice enviorment was the dangerous, bum-like and unpleasant part of the station. Those who could not afford lived down there; you can get practically anything down here. That was why he liked it down here. The perfect place for information.
But anything can happen down here. Anything at all. Most of the crimes were down here, most of the murders, the theft, anything happened down here. Anyone who was in trouble with the law was down here; anyone who was a fugitive or a terrorist. The perfect place to stash out to plan to bomb the station or to assasinate some ambassador figure. Sometimes, Marcus Cole thought to himself, the station should have never made all these corridors. But anyhow, it was time to get down to business.
He sat down on the bar where a middle-aged and obviously drunk man sat, craddling his ale like a young baby. Gray hair, creased face, miserable life. But under all the sour and bitter remnants of his life was a devious and sly man; the perfect man for any updates or information. He often came to him for some information to dig. Better than staying up there.
"Local synthale," he ordered to the bartender, a Drazi, who went straight to work. He turned to his friend informat. "Hello, Adrian," he greeted pleasantly, recieving the synthale and holding it in his hand, glazing at the rich yellow look before looking back at him. "How's life treating you?"
Adrian snorted at the thought and took a sip out of his glass of alien ale. Green and strange, he gave a lucid look at him before putting the glass down. Drunk, already. And it wasn't even ten yet. "The usual," he replied lowly.
"Anything going on that might interest me?"
"Not much," he replied, glaring at his green drink. "I heard the Amsterdam gang's just gone to pick up some cargo from an Earth shipment." Marcus leaned closer. The Amsterdam gang; known for their stealth in weaponry and need of money. Just his luck. He already dealt with one of them and ended up in Medlab under Dr. Stephen Franklin's medical aid.
"What kind of cargo?" Marcus pressed.
"Oh, maybe some food, clothing," he replied wearily, barking in laughter. "Yeah, maybe some new sacks! Haw, haw, haw."
"You're terrible, Adrian," Marcus claimed, frowning at him. "Now tell me, what are in the cargoes that they have to pick up?"
"Artifacts," he gruffawed. "They want to steal the artifacts and sell 'em to the block markot." The ale was getting to him now. Too bad. Marcus frowned at the two thoughts. "Artifacts?" he asked himself. "Only the Interplanetary Expeditions do those---oh, i have to tell Ivanova this piece of info."
"That ch---ick for a number too?" Adrian asked him stupidly. He gruffawed. "You're looooosing tuch with yorsel, Marcos. Damn, you really tink you can get on with the commandrrrr...?" Marcus snorted at his friend's drunk words and his accusation as he raised to his feet. "Better than you can," he told him, leaving the bar.
"So, your so-called friend said this?" Ivanova asked, her tone cool and crisp as she sat in her living room of her quarters. It was pass ten already and she was back in her civilian clothes, or was it her night clothes?, her brownish-red hair down from her usual tight ponytail braid. Before her, Marcus sat. "Hmmm, he has a point. There is an IPX ship headed this way and should arrive tomorrow at the latest. I should put a warrent up---"
"No, don't," Marcus insisted. "You do, and the gang will certainly do all they can to get the cargo while they can. No, you're going to have to go up on a different approach. We should try it my way." She laughed at the thought; he frowned althought personally liking it. "Did I do something wrong?"
"The last time we tried it your way, we nearly got killed," she pointed out. "Okay, Mister Wise-Guy. You want it your stealthy, devious and cunning way, go right ahead. You do your way and I'll do it my way." Now it was his turn to laugh; she frowned at him. "I fail to see how that was very amusing."
"You? Go Down Below?" he asked again. "You'll be recodnized!" This was a laughable matter. The well-known Commander Susan Ivanova of Earthforce, number two on the ship, in civilian clothes and walking around the shady and dark dephts of Babylon 5? It was so funny, it was laughable! Aw, the pain in his gut over laughing.
"So?" she asked, clearly accepting it as a challage.
"You'll get yourself killed!" he protested.
"I fail to see the connection," she admitted. "But I am Number Two; I have my ways." "Then we'll see who can get those cargoes safe first," he declared. She raised her eyebrows. "Are you challanging me?" she asked her in her command tone.
"Like bloody hell I am!"
"Then so be it," she told him. "May the best man win!"