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[Samuel L. Kash]

Jane stood in brand new boots, and tucked inside of the boots were brown baggy pant legs with cargo pockets on the sides of each. She had a brand new white shirt with a pink kitten on it with the words, "I'm no Pussy," written above the graphic, and on top of that she had a brand new leather flight jacket that was made to look worn. On the cuffs were small wings that looked similar to the ones in Greek Lore found on the feet of Hermes; the zipper was the same as the cuffs. They shone brilliantly in the light and contrasted with the rest of the jacket.

"Dress clothes? Crap! I should have gotten my Cabaret stuff!" Jane teased. Behind her were three men wearing slacks with white shirts and red vests; they were all holding multiple bags awaiting their next order.

"I'm ready when you are..." Jane leaned in to whisper to Cinade, "We need to be a little more discreet about our spending from now on. The real Van Gannts are going to notice that their bank accounts have dropped a significant amount thanks to this shopping spree. We could always hit up some new hotels and look for multiple bank account numbers, but not every one is going to be as easy as the last one. You think Logan's okay now? It's been a few hours, the sun's gone down."

[Logan]

With the rotation of the asteroid, the sun had set for the twelfth time. This fact, never mind how interesting, had no effect on Logan. He sat up, his head still twitching uncomfortably. He felt shaky and his head was splitting yet again.

GOOD MORNING, MAD DOG! READY TO KILL, OLD SON? a voice sounded in his head. It wasn’t that Logan’s inner monologue had backfired…this was another voice all together.
Logan sat on the bed and ignored the world, refusing to acknowledge consious thought.

[Ryan Fellheart]

Hemlock had been walking around a ways back from Cinade and Jane. He decided to drop the security and join them finally.

Hemlock with hands in pockets, walked around the room checking the place out. He stared at the bizarre patterns on the walls. Then, he gazed up at the ceiling, and soon returned his gaze back to his miscreant friends.

"Wow this is boring." he said removing one of his hands from his pocket to cover a yawn. His eyes squeezed together tightly and then his jaw clamped shut. He looked over Jane and Cinade.

He smiled at Jane walking over to her, " I like the cat..." He said pointing at her shirt. " I'm glad you are enjoying your little shopping spree, but remember this is a small town. And we are a cleaner act now." He said winking.

"So while I'm around do you guys need anything, or do I need to find Logan and that Wolfe character?" He sat down and stretched his legs out in a very comfortable chair. "Or you could get me something warm to drink and hot to eat!" He grinned a toothy grin and rubbed his stomach.

[Logan]

"I could use a meal," Logan said as he shuffled up to the group.
WE COULD USE A MEAL.

Logan shook his head violently from left to right, slinging a small stream of spit onto the sidewalk below, trying vainly to shake the voice loose from his head.

"I could handle an Irish Whisky steak, or maybe some Italian," Logan grumbled in a low monotone. OR WE COULD JUST TAKE WHAT WE WANT the voice boomed.

"Shut the fuck up," Logan grumbled as he looked upwards at his hat brim.


OOC: So our thread consists of shopping??? On an asteroid mining station????WHA DA FUCK???

[Lightfoot]

OoC: Why not shopping? If we're gonna run with the mob we might as well look pimp as hell.

Cinade smiled as his two brothers in arms approached he and Jane. He wad just finished changing bak into his street clothes, slipping on his SL Jacket and buckling his weapons belt around his waist.

"I could go for something to eat, too. Jane, find us somewhere expensive."

He turned to look at Logan and Hemlock, "s'not like we're paying."

[Samuel L. Kash]

Jane looked over at the man behind the counter. "You, have our things delivered to our hotel. La Villa de...I dunno." The man nodded and ordered some men to do something in quiet Italian.

The foursome walked out the door as Jane looked at her Wrist DB. "Pearl, can you look up some eateries in the area? That'd be real nice."

"Yeah, I'll do that...when you learn some manners," Pearl replied snidely.

"Fine...will you please inform us of some good eats around here?" Jane corrected herself.

"Jeeze...all you had to do was ask. Okay, looks like there are three places in about a five block radius of your location as of right now, but the best place is an Italian Eatery called La Ciotola Grande. It means The Big Bowl. Not very original...oh well, not my problem," Pearl said sarcastically. "Up three blocks and two blocks left on the right side. There's a big bowl outside. How creative."

"Thanks Pearl. Italian good?"

---At the restaurant---

Jane was the first to step in inside of the restaurant. Seated towards the back were well dressed men wearing gold chains all playing some card game; a large stack of money was in the middle. Some were older than the others and it showed in that they were wearing large thick discolored glasses; everyone had their hair slicked back, combed to one side, or parted in the middle. They looked exactly like stereotypes, and upon seeing them Jane snickered a little; shortly thereafter they all turned around and looked at her as if to say, "Why is she in here?"

A few seconds later one of them got up and walked into the back, coming out a few seconds after that with an apron, dressing himself and pulling a pad out of the front left pocket. "Sit anywhere ya like, baby cakes."

Jane squinted her eyes at him and said, "Thank you," in a low gruff voice. "...water, and don't call me baby cakes, got it?"

"Yeah, whatever you want. Here's our menu, peruse a little, I'll be back in a minute to take your orders, capiche? Whaddaya want to drink?"

" 'Yeah, whatever'," Jane said mockingly. "...water, and don't call me baby cakes, got it?"

The inside of the restaurant was nice enough to make the casual onlooker think that actual restaurant business went on inside these walls. From the entrance to the back was a raised aisle walkway that travelled to the kitchen, which was located behind the main cash register. On the ceiling were fans and lights dangling and smoke was heavy from all the cigars that had been smoked in there that day already. On either side of the walkway were tables, some large and round for five or more guests with a lazy suzan in the middle for the dishes to be set on.

Jane and her crew were nestled in the corner booth to the left of the door, and it was the farthest away from the men in the back. The seats were all leather, though in some of the adjacent booths the seats were ripped and some even had small holes that looked burnt as if someone had put out their cigar or cigarette there...either that or they were bullet holes, but there were no exit points.

The floor was tiled in white and green checkered patterns. The leather of the seats matched the green tiling and the wallpaper, which was peeling in the back corner by the seated men (probably from all the smoke that curled up that wall in past years), had flower designs on it that accented everything nicely enough. There were tomato paste stains all over the floor here and there, but Jane thought it odd that those stains weren't cleaned up properly as tomato paste is relatively easy to clean up off of tile.

"So what do you guys want? Chicken Marsala for me...and...um, oh a bowl of tomato soup, extra cheese," Jane said, still not sure if she liked this man.

[Wolfe]

“How’s the baked ziti out here?” Wolfe dropped in, his words seeming to surprise the others, if anything. And he added with a perused grin, “Baby cakes. Not a bad job, if I say so myself. The coat..”

They’d taken to the confines of some restaurant where the cigar and cigarette smoke continued to linger in the air, long after its smokers had picked themselves up and out of the business place. It wasn’t as though Wolfe had anything against smoking, the bags of ash concealed within the carefully stitched pockets of his cream coaxed trenchcoat. He really didn’t do a bad job on it. The coat..

With his hands within leather gloves that allowed his fingers the luxury of their natural dexterity, he shoved his shades up his nose and groaned slightly. “Are we gonna go introduce ourselves to the people of this establishment or what?”

Little did they know, his idea of meeting these wise men involved the Deus tucked away at the side of his waist.

[Logan]

"Any thing for you, sir?" the waiter asked down his nose at the pallid, sweating Logan.

"Just water," Logan lowly mumbled, laying all his bets on that there was no way he could keep his food down. Since his sudden lapse of memory when all he could remember was going into a bar to get drunk, then leaving toward the red double doors at the front of the dive. Beyond that, nothing. Blank space, time forgotten. Gone.

Why then were three men who looked like hidden lawmen making their way with great haste toward the seedy section. The clean cut men in shabby, sodden clothes, dead giveaway to a hasty guise. That they knew was a problem, but the raction was good enough for now. If there was only undercovers responding, that sort of business may have gone on there before in that booze dive, it could be a daily occourance out here on the Rim. Depended on the policing level.

YOU GOTTA GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE, ASSHOLE!
[I]Shut up! Oh, please, whever the hell you are please just shut the fuck up right now so I can THINK. PLEASE!
FINE, JUST DON'T GO DO NUTHIN' CRAZY. With this simple statement of advice, the thing departed.

"Jesus Christ! Thanks...." he said then mumbled the apology under his breath whlie pulling the hat lower to avoid his crewmate's staring eyes.

Coversation slowly bubbled to life around him again before he stood up shakiliy and said, "I'm gonna go grab a smoke."

Logan walked outside quietly and lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply.

[Samuel L. Kash]

"Why don't you join us, Wolfe? We just sat down and ordered...and we're not going over there, by the way. You see, those men aren't the type that would enjoy our type, because our type have a streak written into our genes by God himself, and maybe even you. You see, for centuries this streak has existed in Man; Alexander the Great, Hannibal, Icarus, Nikola Tesla. Our streak is different from the kind found in those men over there, in that life does not matter to them; at least, not the lives of others outside of their streak. You see, our streak seeks that which is better. Now you're probably wondering, 'what is that which is better?'. Well, if we knew, we would have it, because we fly at combat speed even when the situation does not call for it. Why? Because we know that death is only around the corner, and Death himself hath no patience. So sit down, please, I insist." Jane said eloquently. The entire time she played with her glass of water, turning it in the ring of condensation on the table already. She fixed her hair behind her ear and laid down on her folded arms on the table right in front of her glass, so as to look at Hemlock sitting across from her through the ice.

"...also, they're all armed to the teeth with concealable weapons, and we're here to lay low. Our ship wasn't ripped the shreds by girl scouts; we're in serious feces, here. So, join us if you want, but we don't like heroes, and we don't like cowboys, because the definition for both reads 'a person who gets himself killed'. Got it?"

By then three men had walked up to the table hastily. They slammed a wanted poster down next to Jane's drink and pointed at it. "That's you, sweetness. You're coming with us, dead or alive; we ain't got no hesitations about killing no broad, 'specially one as pretty as you is, capiche?"

"Oh...so you think that just because you're bigger than me that you intimidate me. Okay, well, how about this... I just ordered a nice plate of food, and when we get done we can talk like adults. How does that sound?" Jane asked as she sat back up, glaring at the man.

"We don't care about tha--" The man started to say, but he was interrupted by Jane.

"Listen, I don't care that you don't care, but I think your mother would. I'm sure she was a respectable woman, and a respectable woman deserves to be honored. Honorable mothers teach their sons manners. Now just now you were very rude to my companions and myself. I was just explaining to my friend here that we were not going to disturb you because we knew you wouldn't like it, especially if we did it in the manner that you just did. So what do you think your mother would say if she saw you just now? Hmm?" Jane asked.

"You never knew my mother, so don't you ever talk about her, God rest her soul!" The man replied.

"You're right, but I'm not talking about your mother, I'm talking about manners. Simple, plain manners... Besides, that's not me right there." Jane pointed at the girl, that was her, on the poster.

"What are you talking about?"

"Right there, she has a rabbit lip and one long nose hair...and..." Jane tried to stall as the man leaned in to examine the picture further, hoping that Cinade would catch on to her hints and pull his piece in time.

[Lightfoot]

Jane's stalling was completely unnecessary as Cinade drew his left Caster as soon as the man slammed his hand down on the table. Well, drew isn't really the correct word. To say that the Caster was one second absent from view and the next second trained unwaveringly on the man's face was perhaps a much better recounting of what happened. Under the table, his second caster was drawn and leveled at the second man with his middle finger resting on the trigger. His index finger was extended, forming a glowing orb of energy ready to launch at the third man.

He spoke, looking at Jane, "what the hell are you talking about, Jane? All that streak shite? Someone read their Yeats this morning and decided to wax poetic."

He gaze turned to the three men at table's edge, bringing focus to the man clearly in charge, "listen, mate, I've had a rough past few days. All I want is a bloody pot of tea, and I'm willing to kill a man without even thinking twice to get it. You happen to be the man getting in the way of th--"

Cinade's hand blurred as he fired a low setting driller blast through the power cell of a plasma pistol while it was in the process of being drawn. His hand blurred back to the head man.

"I don't want to see that again. Now where was I? Oh yea, my tea. You're the man getting in the way of that right now. That and the fact that you ponces are threatening my soddin' family. Now, if you walk away--walk away right now--we can be square, and you boys can live. Or you can try and convince yourselves that you lot have the bullocks to attack us, and you can all die. What's it gonna be, chip?"

[Logan]

The spaced out spacer snapped back to reality from his minute long thousand yard stare. Someone brushed against the blue eyed spacer's shoulder and kept running down the street, followed by two other patrons of the restaraunt.
"Mmmmmm, shit," he mumbled under his breath as he threw his cigarette into the gutter.

Logan slid into the room on the balls of his feet, not giving a chance for the heels of his boots to clack on the floor.

Logan prowled behind two of the three men. It was one of the more easily accomplished sneaking jobs, the men were already distracted with the numerous guns in front of them. "All this talk about killin'", Logan said with a wry grin, "Well! I'm your huckleberry! Blood games? That's JUST my game!"

He didn't bother with more words, he just eased his pistols into the ears of the two closest men.

CHECKMATE, MATE! the voice bellowed.
"I thought I told you to shut up," Logan said aloud to noone in particular.