Location: Gillfillan's Gold - Planetside
January 4th - 3049
The dimly lit bar in the heart of Rectortown on Gillfillan's Gold, was filled with the low murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses. The air was tinged with the scent of stale smoke and the soft hum of a distant jazz tune. Carol Fischer, known as "Fox," sat at a corner table, nursing a glass of local bourbon as she waited for the arrival of Guiseppe Trevors, a businessman with whom she was about to negotiate.
Rhyan We'Ber, the imposing figure known as "Raptor," stood nearby, his watchful eye scanning the room. He was attuned to every nuance of the environment, ensuring the safety of his team in this unfamiliar establishment.
As the door swung open, a gust of chilled air accompanied the entrance of Guiseppe Trevors. The emissary of the Rim Collection, a small state within the periphery just outside the boundaries of the former Lyran Commonwealth. Dressed in a sleek business suit, resembling those worn by high trend people in the Federated Suns, he exuded an air of calculated confidence. Carol raised an eyebrow, acknowledging his arrival, and gestured for him to join her at the table.
"Mr. Trevors," she greeted, her voice firm but diplomatic. "I trust your journey was uneventful."
Guiseppe Trevors acknowledged Carol's words with a nod, his gaze meeting hers across the table. "Indeed, Kommandant Fischer. Now, let's get down to business. You want fifty percent salvage rights and 100k for each week you are planetside?"
Carol leaned back, her gaze unwavering. "I'll let you know, we bring an Atlas to the field that alone should warrant fair compensation. We'll take risks, and we'll deal with unforeseen challenges. The Raptors don't come cheap, Mr. Trevors."
Guiseppe leaned in, steepling his fingers. "Of course, Commander. We appreciate your costs. However, you must understand that the Rim Collective has its constraints."
Rhyan's intense gaze remained fixed on the unfolding negotiation, ready to step in if necessary. The air in the bar seemed to thicken with tension, the ordinary sounds of a bustling evening becoming a mere setting to the high-stakes discussion.
Yet, amid the intensity of the negotiation, his attention was occasionally drawn to his wife. With her short-cut blond hair and a voluptuous body that rivaled any woman and attracted the desire of any man, not even age had put a dent in her beauty. Those cold blue eyes, which had seen countless battles and held the wisdom of experience, only added to her allure. Despite the gravity of the situation, Rhyan couldn't help but steal glances at Fox, a testament to the enduring bond between them face of the commotion.
Carol's measured tone cut through the atmosphere. "Constraints or not, Mr. Trevors, we will fulfill our end of the bargain. We expect fair compensation for our services and the salvage rights if we are to secure your interests."
As the negotiation continued, the dimly lit bar transformed into a stage for the intricate dance of diplomacy and negotiation. The watchful eye of Raptor and the unwavering resolve of Fox underscored the Raptors of Thrakad's determination in matters of both business and battle.
In a more ghetto-like part of Rectortown, away from the polished establishments and glittering lights, three mechwarriors found themselves eager to let off some steam after enduring three weeks crammed up in a Jumpship. The gritty atmosphere of the neighborhood welcomed them as they sought refuge in a local watering hole.
The dimly lit establishment exuded a different kind of charm compared to the more upscale areas of Rectortown. The air was thick with the scent of fried food, the hum of conversations mixing with the occasional clatter of glasses. The neon signs flickered intermittently, casting an uneven glow over the worn-out tables and mismatched chairs.
The trio of mechwarriors, clad in their rugged attire, entered the tavern with a sense of liberation. The bartender, a weathered individual with a rag in hand, nodded in acknowledgment as they took their seats. The low hum of conversation surrounded them, providing a stark contrast to the silence of the Jumpship's confined quarters.
The trio navigated through the smoky ambiance with their distinct qualities on display. Lorelei "Ballerina" Maier moved with a grace that captivated the eyes of onlookers, while Elke "Gunman" Hahn, exuding confidence and brashness, walked beside her, creating a striking contrast. Young Lea "Samurai" Jung, with her balanced mix of combat prowess and charm, added a unique dynamic to the ensemble.
Relieved to be away from the stern gaze of Ace or Fox's demanding perfection, the three women found themselves at the bar. Elke wasted no time and offered to buy the first round, signaling for the bartender.
As the mechwarriors ordered their first round of beers, they could feel the strain and stress of their recent journey dissipate. Laughter and comradeship echoed through the gritty establishment as they indulged in the simple pleasure of sharing stories and raising a glass to the freedom found on solid ground.
A gruff male voice interrupted the atmosphere, the coarse words cutting through the tavern's noise. "Such a nice draconic piece of…" The sentence hung in the air as the man's hand landed on Lea's baggy jeans. The trio of mechwarriors exchanged glances, the unspoken understanding passing between them.
All eyes turned toward the source of the disturbance, revealing that the man was not alone; three other rough-looking workers stood behind him. The atmosphere in the tavern escalated as the three prepared to handle the unwanted attention.
Their objective was clear—to deal with the four dirtbags causing trouble in the tavern. The Raptors were known for both their combat skills and their ability to navigate complex social situations. As they approached the troublemakers, the atmosphere tensed, and the tavern's patrons watched with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
Elke, the cocky MechWarrior, cracked her knuckles and grinned, her eyes assessing the situation. "Well, well, what do we have here? A few hardy men, trying to be manly and looking for a fight?"
Lea, with her sensual yet strategic approach, stepped forward, her eyes locking onto one of the troublemakers. "I suggest you boys find a way to settle down. We're not here for a brawl, but we won't hesitate to put you in your place."
Lorelei, known as the "Ballerina" for her grace and agility, positioned herself strategically, ready to move with finesse if the situation called for it. The trio of mechwarriors, now facing the four troublemakers, exuded a threatening aura that spoke of both combat prowess and confidence.
The tavern's patrons observed the unfolding scene, a hushed anticipation settling over the dimly lit establishment. The neon signs flickered as if echoing the anxiety in the air.
The leader of the troublemakers, undeterred by the trio's presence, sneered. "Look meat is back on the menu boys, a trio of little mech jockeys thinking they can waltz into our territory. You ladies lost or looking for trouble?"
Elke, the cocky "Gunman," maintained her grin, unfazed by the man's words. "We're just here for a drink and some relaxation. But if you insist on trouble, we can accommodate that too."
Lea, the "Samurai," with a sensual yet assertive demeanor, took a step closer. "Why don't you and your friends find another corner to hang out in? We wouldn't want to ruin the ambiance of this fine establishment."
The atmosphere in the tavern hung in the balance, the patrons watching with a mix of curiosity and concern. The trepidation built, and the fallout of the encounter rested on the choices made by both the mechwarriors and the troublemakers.
Samurai, with the grace of a skilled dancer, effortlessly sidestepped the leader's swinging fist. In a swift and fluid motion, she countered with a powerful kick aimed precisely at the man's knee joint. The impact was felt throughout the tavern as the troublemaker grunted in pain, his knee giving way under the force of the strike.
The atmosphere in the gritty establishment shifted, and murmurs of surprise and admiration swept through the onlookers. The Raptors' prowess in both the cockpit and hand-to-hand combat was becoming evident to those witnessing the altercation.
Lea maintained her composed demeanor, her eyes locking onto the leader as she warned, "You might want to reconsider your moves. We're not here for trouble, but we won't let anyone disrespect us."
In that crucial moment of tension, Elke's brash and bold nature took the lead. With a nonchalant shrug, she declared, "Drek it, let's rock!" In a flash, she lunged at the closest troublemaker, her balled fist connecting with precision, striking him square in the face.
The resounding impact echoed through the tavern as the struck man stumbled backward, taken by surprise. The atmosphere shifted from uncertainty to a chaotic burst of action. Lorelei and Lea, seizing the opportunity, swiftly moved into action.
Lorelei, living up to her nickname "Ballerina," showcased her agility. She elegantly maneuvered around the second troublemaker, avoiding his clumsy attempt at a swing, and delivered a swift kick to his midsection. The man grunted in pain, doubling over, as Lorelei gracefully danced out of harm's way.
Lea, the "Samurai," showcased her combat prowess as she smoothly approached the third troublemaker. With a calculated strike, she incapacitated him using a precise combination of kicks and punches, leaving him disoriented and unable to retaliate.
The tavern had transformed into a scene of controlled mess, the mechwarriors from the Raptors skillfully handling the situation. The remaining possible troublemakers, witnessing their comrades being swiftly dealt with, hesitated for a moment, their anger now mixed with a hint of fear.
The bar patrons, initially spectators of the unexpected brawl, watched in awe as the mechwarriors displayed a unique blend of combat skill and finesse. The gritty establishment, once filled with hostility, now hummed with a different energy—one of respect for the capable warriors who had seamlessly turned the tables.