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The Falling Sky - Zhan, Rowan, Sama, Tucker
When the captain and the first mate step up to the Falling Sky, they'd see the sign of the bar overhead. An arc representing a world, and three falling symbols-- sun, moon, and star. At the bottom, the name of the bar in English, at the top, the same in Chinese characters. The interior is your basic public house. A bar stocked with booze of varying qualities and type, a stage on which a band plays shanties and the like, a number of tables in the middle, and booths around the sides. Three rent-rooms are on the lower level, but the lights next to them have red filters over them, making it clear what they're rented for. Upstairs, about ten more rent-rooms, cramped but serviceable, but what need is there for those rooms at the now? Besides, they have rooms back on their own ship.
By the time Zhan and Rowan enter the pub, Sama and Tucker are already there, ensconced at their own table, seemingly unconnected to the captain and first mate's arrival. When/if Zhan or Rowan make an order for a drink, they'd be informed, discreetly, that their first round has already been provided for. (Sama being generous.) Franklin Brisket and his workers are already there, sitting at a table toward the back.
Brisket is a man of average height, but he is a very wide man, broad of shoulder and thick of build. He's dusky-skinned and utterly bald, wearing a shabby black suit coat over a wife beater. His thick fingers and knuckles are calloused, and he wears rings on his fore and pinky fingers on both hands. He smokes two black cigarettes, and his expression is a hard one.
Three men accompany him. Two of them have the build of men who work in hard labor, mining or smithing perhaps. One of them has the minor burn scars that accompanies smithing, at least. The other looks like your standard industrial worker in appearance. The third man looks much more unassuming, and blinks a few times behind a pair of tinted spectacles. He looks like an accountant. The smith and accountant both wear plain, ordinary clothes, of the kind one might wear when that's all they can afford. The industrial worker-type wears a worn leather jacket, dark and patched in places.
Brisket pulls both cigarettes out of his mouth and blows a thick stream of smoke at the ceiling as he eyes Zhan and Rowan. "You Cook?" he says, gruffly. It's the same voice Zhan spoke with on the comm.
Deucalion - Lizzie, Wolf, Mando + 1 unconscious R. Kellins
Mando takes the sedative without a word, resuming his usual "holding up the roof" stance, his knife put away for now. He keeps an eye on the the unconscious Ricky Kellins. "Wouldn't be surprised if he is still riding on his last snort. He won't be waking up any time soon, though," he says with confidence.
Lizzie's tox screen returns a hit, all right. Kellins definitely had a dose of dust fairly recently. Judging by the results, it was Nautilus White, a fairly common, and fairly potent strain of dust.
When Wolf returns with his opinion, Mando growls, "We ain't killin' the poor chwen. He might've drawn the short card when it come to brains, especial when it comes to puttin' fey wu up his nose, but that's no call to go cuttin' his throat."
He shakes his head. "No. Keep 'is swiper IdentCard, fine, but we ain't robbin' him blind. Tze sh'un tze mieh. Ring up the local police, hand him over to them, let them deal with him."
When the captain and the first mate step up to the Falling Sky, they'd see the sign of the bar overhead. An arc representing a world, and three falling symbols-- sun, moon, and star. At the bottom, the name of the bar in English, at the top, the same in Chinese characters. The interior is your basic public house. A bar stocked with booze of varying qualities and type, a stage on which a band plays shanties and the like, a number of tables in the middle, and booths around the sides. Three rent-rooms are on the lower level, but the lights next to them have red filters over them, making it clear what they're rented for. Upstairs, about ten more rent-rooms, cramped but serviceable, but what need is there for those rooms at the now? Besides, they have rooms back on their own ship.
By the time Zhan and Rowan enter the pub, Sama and Tucker are already there, ensconced at their own table, seemingly unconnected to the captain and first mate's arrival. When/if Zhan or Rowan make an order for a drink, they'd be informed, discreetly, that their first round has already been provided for. (Sama being generous.) Franklin Brisket and his workers are already there, sitting at a table toward the back.
Brisket is a man of average height, but he is a very wide man, broad of shoulder and thick of build. He's dusky-skinned and utterly bald, wearing a shabby black suit coat over a wife beater. His thick fingers and knuckles are calloused, and he wears rings on his fore and pinky fingers on both hands. He smokes two black cigarettes, and his expression is a hard one.
Three men accompany him. Two of them have the build of men who work in hard labor, mining or smithing perhaps. One of them has the minor burn scars that accompanies smithing, at least. The other looks like your standard industrial worker in appearance. The third man looks much more unassuming, and blinks a few times behind a pair of tinted spectacles. He looks like an accountant. The smith and accountant both wear plain, ordinary clothes, of the kind one might wear when that's all they can afford. The industrial worker-type wears a worn leather jacket, dark and patched in places.
Brisket pulls both cigarettes out of his mouth and blows a thick stream of smoke at the ceiling as he eyes Zhan and Rowan. "You Cook?" he says, gruffly. It's the same voice Zhan spoke with on the comm.
Deucalion - Lizzie, Wolf, Mando + 1 unconscious R. Kellins
Mando takes the sedative without a word, resuming his usual "holding up the roof" stance, his knife put away for now. He keeps an eye on the the unconscious Ricky Kellins. "Wouldn't be surprised if he is still riding on his last snort. He won't be waking up any time soon, though," he says with confidence.
Lizzie's tox screen returns a hit, all right. Kellins definitely had a dose of dust fairly recently. Judging by the results, it was Nautilus White, a fairly common, and fairly potent strain of dust.
When Wolf returns with his opinion, Mando growls, "We ain't killin' the poor chwen. He might've drawn the short card when it come to brains, especial when it comes to puttin' fey wu up his nose, but that's no call to go cuttin' his throat."
He shakes his head. "No. Keep 'is swiper IdentCard, fine, but we ain't robbin' him blind. Tze sh'un tze mieh. Ring up the local police, hand him over to them, let them deal with him."
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