[JP] Marshall, Sienelis & Josett - And Show Us A Passage of Time (Part IV)
Quinn Reynolds
((Two Days Ago: Outside the Courier's Quarters))
::The Courier waved a disinterested hand in his direction, making his way toward the well-stocked drinks trolley. Selecting a drink so violent a shade of neon it could be radioactive, he poured himself a generous measure and brought it to his lips. He appeared pleasantly surprised by the taste, quirking his head to the side as it went down.::
Ordena: Just fix it before lunch. Woods dawdles and I'm tired of cold food.
::He grinned toward the table, and earned a smirk in turn — friendly banter, rather than insult or genuine complaint. While their attention was on Bear and their exchanged smiles, the disguised Romulan slid a small, black device out from her kit and tucked away, hidden among the circuitry that fed into the replicator.
::Swapping the tricorder between his hands, Bear grimaced at it, then scratched the back of his neck, before looking up along the ceiling once more. he covered his beard with his hand, tapping a contemplative finger on the side of his cheek. Approaching the side of the table with tangible apprehension, something obviously stopping him short. Wavering between words for a long second, he tapped the side of the tricorder with the flat of his hand.::
O. Marshall: A slight complication with the brown out. Like an electromagnetic pulse sort of... complication. ::He pointed up to the ceiling.:: Faulty wiring in the rafters. Orion ships aren't what they used to be, especially with Antaren's at the wrench. It'll be back up in no time, but there is a slight chance it could knock out anything you have on the grid.
::At the mention of Antaren incompetence, Valesha took the time to direct a vulgar gesture in Bear's direction. It was... well, she wouldn't go so far as to call it *fun*, but there was something exhilarating in a masquerade performed so close to their target. Blood singing through her veins, she jammed few tools into her jumpsuit pockets, and grabbed the back of a chair. It left a trail through the thick pile of the carpet until she came to a stop underneath the section of ceiling he'd pointed at, and planted her grease-stained boots on the seat as she climbed up.
::It drew an audible sigh from the auburn-haired man, more when she ducked away from a rain of dust that came from the shifted ceiling panel.::
Ordena: Does housekeeping take as long to arrive as the engineers do?
O. Marshall: Longer. You should see them. Down there. Scrubbing boots with wire brushes. Half of what's on her boots has probably been there for half her lifetime. ::With a sniff, he covered his nose from the dust.:: I'd stand back if I were you, sir, the last engineer we sent up there vapourised and we've never really found the body. Bits, sure. Finger here. Toe there. Who knows. We could be breathing them in right now.
::Bear thumped his fist into his sternum and coughed deeply, as if the revelation that Antaren atomized specks could be floating as freely through the air as oxygen. As Valesha's boots disappeared through the hole, Bear glanced over to the table and the game taking place, a few hands of cards facing down on the surface, a stack or two on either end, a set of dice in the middle. He nodded with a flick of his bearded chin.::
O. Marshall: What's the stakes?
::The Courier turned toward the table to consider the answer, and as the old human adage "out of sight, out of mind" proved true, Valesha slipped another of Lena's gizmos from her sleeve, securing it in the rafters of the VIP rooms.::
Ordena: I have no idea. Woods?
Woods: So far we're up to seventeen strips of latinum, a deluxe all-night pass to Madame Tanetcha's, Arasho's favourite disruptor rifle and the rights to ask Ghaire's sister out without him gutting you.
::A slim, rather mild looking man glanced across the table at Woods. The Bajoran wouldn't stand out in a crowd; average height, average build, brown hair, brown skin, brown eyes.::
Ghaire: The question is risk-free. The date is not. If she's made unhappy, I'm still introducing someone to their entrails.
Ordena: Quite the high stakes game, then.
O. Marshall: Sounds it. ::He scratched at his chin, fingers combing through the growing scruff, and angled an eyebrow at the man in charge.:: Room for one more there? Can't say I've played that much, but anything to pass the time, right?
::The Courier's gaze darted over to the Antaren descending from the ceiling, then back to Bear. He smiled.::
Ordena: I don't think so.
::The blond shrugged his shoulders, echoing the smile back at him, then reached up to scratch the back of his neck.::
O. Marshall: Your loss. The only thing I've got worth anything is still worth more than what you've got there. ::His blue eyes glanced at the Bajoran.:: Including your sister.
::Valesha dropped her head to the side, staring at Bear with disbelief and dismay on her disguised features, while the Bajoran rose slowly and deliberately to his feet, flexing and curling his fingers.::
Ordena: Oh. ::He sighed.:: Well, just make sure you clean up after you're all done.
::And with that, he made a tactical retreat back to the safety of his rooms. Ghaire stepped away from the table, completely unremarkable except for the insult in his eyes, his companions shifting in their chairs -- content to watch for now, ready to wade in if necessary.
Ghaire: Let's have a conversation, you and I.
::Well, that didn't go as he'd hoped, and resisting the urge or the temptation to look up at Valesha, he squared himself up for what was likely going to be an unfair fight. Bear had always been quite sure that when his curtain call came, it would be a noble sacrifice for someone else, not because he couldn't talk his way into a good distraction, and desirably, for someone he liked.
::However, having his face smashed into seventeen latinum strips was not the kind of dignified end he'd foreseen either.::
TBC...
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Orson Marshall
Fugitive
G239304JM0
&
Fugitive
T238401QR0
&
Scallywag
Orion Syndicate