Thread: [ME-Privateer] In The Black (Ursus Peregrinus & Atroxa)

Tahlyn Varro Kurrlok Bronn It was a fairly quiet evening in The Black. The place was a sleazy little dive that catered to spacers, merchants and smugglers but aside from the odd rowdy drunk it wasn't a place that saw much action. People came to The Black for a quiet corner to do some business or to get themselves well and truly drunk where no one would roll them. The only thing going tonight was a group of spacers playing some Terran card game. A burly Krogan with gold engraving on his crest was riffling the cards and chattering as he had been all evening. Alright, the small blind's ten cred, the big blind is twenty. The half dozen players were checking their cards as they made their bets. A Volus was standing on his chair and leaning forward watching as he puzzled out the arcane rules. At the bar, Tahlyn was rolling his eyes. Bronn was about the most human Krogan he'd ever met. The lizard had spent so much time around aliens that he didn't seem Krogan half the time. Sipping his drink, Tahlyn looked around, waiting for the contact he'd been sent to meet. Some Batarian by the name of Cheff or something like that. Bronn let the rest of the players finish betting and dealt the flop, his broad face breaking into a smile. I'll raise twenty five, he said as the betting came back to him. The Volus met his bet and he flipped over his cards. Two pair, Jacks over fives. Very good, Tuchanka-clan, but I have three sevens. The Volus collected the credit chips with a burbling chuckle. Bronn banged his hand on the table and shook his head. You sneaky little globe. You had pocket sevens that whole time? His brow ridge drew down and he shook his head. Teach me to play with someone in a pressure suit. I'm gonna need another Ryncol here. As his partner shuffled the cards for another deal, Tahlyn turned and saw a Batarian enter the bar, quickly followed by a pair of Salarians accompanied by a trio of Vorcha. The Batarian came over to the bar and leaned forward. A Bloody Mary, he told the bartender, make it a double. Tahlyn's ears perked up, that was how he was supposed to recognize his contact. I'll have what he's having, the Turian grunted, finishing his drink and slapping some cred down on the bubbled plastic and I'll get the bill. So busy was he sniffing the dubious concoction the bartender handed him that he didn't really notice as the three Vorcha began fanning out through the bar. Not until one of them brushed against him and he spun. The Vorcha spun as well, and the two of them glared at one another for a long moment before the barbaric vermin backed down. Sniffing, Tahlyn watched him go, glaring after the creature. If that Vorcha tried that nonsense with Bronn he'd be picking fangs out of his trachea. You have my payment? The Batarian had an odd sibilance to his voice, and as he cleared his throat Tahlyn noticed the thick pucker of scar tissue that ran in a crescent around his throat. It looked like someone had tried to carve his head off and then gotten bored halfway. You have the package? Tahlyn replied, one hand slipping into his pocket. His right hand fell to the Elkoss Shuriken holstered at his side. Before the Batarian could reply, there was a commotion. Here! She is here! One of the Vorcha crooned, and the two Salarians produced bulky pistols and advanced. Artemis Chase, your debts are past due. Do you have the credits to pay them? The first Salarian asked, and the Vorcha were converging on the redheaded human. The second hefted his Carnifex and smiled a froggy smile. All sound in the bar grew quiet as people edged away from the human woman. No one wanted trouble, least of all Tahlyn Varro. Not when he was about to swap a credit chip for some very valuable cargo. So of course that was when Kurrlok Bronn's deep, gravelly voice cut the silence like the beginning of a landslide. You boys mind keeping your pets outside? I'm trying to play poker here, and the smell wafting off your Vorcha is breaking my concentration. Oh hell, Tahlyn groaned, and slapped the credchip down on the bar, sliding it in front of the goggle-eyed Batarian. This is no business of yours, Krogan. Sit down and play your silly game, but our guards stay here. The second Salarian snapped back. Who is a Krogan to complain about smell? Your entire species stinks of failure and defeat. The silence spread out like a pool of hydraulic fluid, thick and dark and ready to catch fire. Then Bronn's chuckle rumbled. You know, you remind me of another Salarian I used to know. Called him Froggy. Nice guy... not too bright, but a nice guy. The chuckle cut off and Bronn pushed back his chair, standing up. Came to a bad end, though. Remind me to tell you the story sometime. And the Krogan's hand came up, flinging his chair across the bar and laying out both the Salarians, as well as the drunken Turian they bounced off of. That was when the fighting started. tag