Penitence Lost (IC)

The middle to upper decks were sparsely populated following the proverbial shit sandwich that fate had served up to Port Wander.  He grunted out a laugh. Fate....The idea that the God-Emperor of mankind had mapped out a plan for all of this chaos was a contradiction to say the least. Fate was a term for the weak...a term for those who refused to wake up and take ownership for their own hands in all of this.  Fate was the lie planetary governors told those beneath them when their own blaring mistakes or greed cost the lives of tens of thousands of imperial citizens.  Fate was the tactical retreat that left countless dedicated warriors of the Astra Militarum to fend for themselves and succumb to the caustic dogma of the Xenos on Damocles. Fate was the bark of a commissar's bolt pistol that opened Barbarella's mind across soil of Hervara. Fate was a lie....


Clear!!

Argus Rhone's voice boomed with reassurance as he slid his bolt pistol home into the grox-hide holster at his right hip.  His plasteel capped boots echoed through the empty room with each step he took; the occasional piece of glass popped and crunched under each descent of his heavy booted foot. Despite a little debris, the place was still in tact.  The neon sign hummed and flickered outside.  The Eel was just one of many watering holes Port Wander had to offer.  Hundreds of bottles of various grain alcohols and amasec lined the wall behind the counter.  This was no rotgut slinging crack in the turd though...this was a legitimate place of business not too long ago.  He cupped a hand next to his mouth and called out to her.

"Looks like we're open for business, darling!"

Jules stood outside the bar her foot keeping the door ajar, her large calibre pistol at the ready.

She felt that a junction was coming to their relationship, she needed friends and ultimately to get off Port Wander and Rhone was her most obvious ticket out of here. It was only a matter of time until the gangs or enforcers caught up to her with about imagined slights or genuine crimes. Trust was hard for Jules but she felt like some kind of mutual trust was building with Rhone and that was a feeling she hadn’t felt for a long while.

With the clear sign given she sighed in relief and holstered her pistol. They both deserved a quiet drink and this might be an opportunity to talk.

Pushing the door open she was framed by the pink neon light which bathed her peroxide blonde hair in its pink glow. “Not bad” she mutters.

Jules works her way around the bar and runs her hand along the bottles as she decides what she francies “What’s your poison?” she asks Rhone

The neon flickered and twitched as the power to this particular sector of the station momentarily faltered.

Aside from the two voices, there was almost complete silence.

A cool, blue ambient light from Starport’s night cycle pierced the windows of the establishment and reflected off the man’s smooth, shaved head.

Rhône placed his hands on his hips as the calculating eyes of an educated warrior scanned the room. Broad shoulders led to a powerful frame, and the telltale hint of a grin under his heavy facial hair offered most a sense of reassurance. Despite his calm demeanor, a hint of sadness dulled the usual gleam in his eyes. His thumb solemnly caressed a pair of ident tags.

Rhone’s glance briefly shot to Jules. She was easy on the eyes....then again, so was a grox’s taint considering the company he kept. Rhône shuddered at the thought of Stubbs’ onyx arse at showers, or Emperor forbid the time he caught an unwarranted glimpse of Sgt. Korreas shriveled tits back on the colony. But enough about nightmares.....This Jules had surprised him more times than he could count on one hand, and in such a short period of time. From where Rhône stood, they were about one for one on saving one another’s asses. He smirked as he recalled the girl’s stray bullet he had been the target of. Maybe he was ahead by one...

Blinking rapidly due to a healthy combination of sleep deprivation, combat fatigue, and the inevitable influx of intrusive thoughts that could plague a trooper, Rhône ponders Jules question carefully before answering. His voice boomed, with the articulation of a man used to conveying a message that meant life or death to others....but something was there, or rather was not there. Just like the dulled twinkle in his eyes, Rhône’s voice was parched with a sense of loss.

“Something hard, Darling...”

The grizzled Sgt. Carefully slid the ident tags into the pocket of his fatigues as he turned towards Jules and forced a smile.

Jules reads a few labels, one mans 'hard' drink was another mans shandy. Settling on something she'd also like she picks a bottle of golden coloured rum. Placing it on he bar she then grabs two glasses and inspects them critically, they were dusty. With no clean cloth visible she cleans them the best she can with her sleeve before pouring out a generous drink each.

We certainly deserve it.

She slid the drink over to Rhone and studied him for a moment something was up, she saw it in his smile and eyes. "A penny for your thoughts?" she asks gently a soft smile on her lips. Her eyes showed apprehension a contrast to her smile. She was worried that Rhone and his men might not be her ticket to the next chapter of her life. She was also terrified that the violent life they led would be a swift ticket to her exposing her powers again.