Crew of The Defiant

"Thats them that knocked me out," said the drunk man from the Inn. Then to Daniel and Boots, "Yer gonna pay fer that, both of you. long and slow --- especially the chair-wielder!"

Hand ready on her sabre, Boots and Daniel began slowly to back away as the men pulled out a variety of cruel, brutal-looking weapons.

She scuffed her boot across the dirt. Thompson wasn't reliable, and she'd known it. But she'd get him if it cost her...she'd put him behind bars, she determined to make him wish he never...

"Yer gonna pay fer that, both of you. Long and slow --- especially the chair-wielder!"
There was a loud cheer from several men. Vera knew what was going on, but she hesitated. She looked around the corner at the angry group of men, and at the two preparing to take them on...Even if they were only pirates, they were considerably out numbered. It was not fair at all.
This could be destiny, maybe if I help these two out, I can get a ride from them to Langhorn City...

"Dang Boots, he must of had a thick skull".

"You would think that he would at least be dizzy!" Boots replied drawing her sword, as Daniel drew his. The men had fanned out in a half circle and were slowly backing them into an ally. Boots looked back over her shoulder. An eight-foot brick wall cut off their escape, but before she could tell if they could climb it, the men rushed forward.

Stepping out of the shadows, laughing with his inebriation, came a tall, dark shape with the vaguest outline of a flat cap on his head and a long-barreled rifle on in his hand - the barrel, that is.

"Leave the lady alone," he said, with a grin. "You don't want to be naughty..." He waggled his finger at him, then paused to take another drink from his bottle. He didn't stink of the alcohol as the other men did, and his leather trousers, plain cotton shirt-and-suspenders was clean enough. His flat cap was tweed and finely made - finer than all the rest of his clothes combined.

The dirty men stared at him for a moment, and began to laugh. "Get out of the way, idio-," growled one man, a blond smelling strongly of some sort of ale, attempting to push the big man out of the way.

He didn't have time to finish his sentence, as he was brained with the butt of Laurie's gun, the smile still plastered on his face - but with a much different tone. "Wrong answer, boyo," he answered, the slightest lilt of an Irish accent in his voice. It wasn't overwhelming, but just enough to give a melodic tone to his words. It was obvious that he'd been well-educated, in England, perhaps. He spun the rifle with one hand, his long fingers reaching around the butt of the pistol to cock it. "You have three seconds," he said, with a menacing smile, cocking the gun.

"Yer drunk!" said one equally inebriated man. "What kin ya do?" he said, lurching forward with his knife.

He stopped dead when the barrel was leveled between his eyes, point-blank range. "Two seconds," said the Irishman merrily, his eyes lazily noting where the rest of the crowd was dropping off now that the sport of the chase was gone.

The man gulped, then brandished his knife for a second.

"One," said Laurie. With an odd slide of the hand, he uncocked the gun and hit this man over the head hard and quickly, so that the man's eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed, his knife clattering against the paving-stones. "I don't feel like killing anyone today," he said with a lazy nod, taking another swig from the flask. "But don't push me, kay?" he said merrily to the few men that were left, brandishing his gun again. It was mostly his size that was intimidating - and this man towered over many by as much as half of a foot. That, and the fact that he had the strength to wield the long rifle one-handed while flat-out drunk was slightly intimidating.

It was all a bluff, except for his two advantages. Like he could fight a gang of drunk men intent on blood and win without killing anyone. He, even in his very-drunk state, laughed inwardly at their stupidity. They believed him. He had that effect, though... a family trait that he shared with his father. People tended to believe him, no matter what he said.

((Oh, I left a few of them there so that the situation could go either way, if you want it to. Just sayin'.))

"Um, thanks", Daniel said as he thought of how the situation was very much like a joke he once heard; So an Irishman walks out of a bar......

Boots lowered her sword, biting back a angry retort at being called a "lady." Huh! Like she was some dainty little thing that needed protecting! There was nothing "lady-like" at all about Boots Windson!

Wanting to make sure the men were really gone she rounded the corner --- and walked smack into someone on the other side!

"Ughff!!! Sorry! Sorry," she stammered, then froze, realizing that it was the tough-looking girl who had been staring at her in the Inn. Suddenly it all came together... Her physical appearance, the way she had been watching Boots after the chair incident, her sudden appearance now... It all merged into a single word in her mind....... Privateer!

"I, um, saw the skirmish." Vera murmured as the small shock of being bumped into wore off. She looked at the girl for the first time, and saw that she was only a young thing. Though not much younger than her self, of course. Vera took a breath and stood up straight, "I'd of helped, if that gentleman hadn't intervened." She looked back at the scene to see what had become of the drunk man.

Boots sheathed her sword, looking over her shoulder. She could hear shouting off in the distance, and drawing nearer. "Oh, lovely, the Police." she said, then called to her cousin. "Daniel, I think that we had best be going now. Quickly."

Daniel heard the distinct shrill call of a police whistle, "Well um..thanks", he said shaking the hand of the large intoxicated Irishman.
Mabey such a man would be useful incase another band of drunken thugs showed up, in any case Daniel had to show his appreciation for intervening.
"You know" Daniel said as he put his hand on the tall mans shoulder in a friendly manner" I may have something to reward your Kindness, and its in the shape of a bottle".

The inebriated Irishman raised an eyebrow. "'M afraid that a bottle wouldn't be quite..."

Well, he /was/ currently unemployed.

Another lazy, charming smile spread across his features as he took the last swig from his flagon. "Like the charmed children, following the sah-rin call, I follow the pipes," he said the lilting accent breaking through again. Well, at least this haiku was somewhat better, he mused drunkenly. What kind of hooch must the guy have aboard? Nothing strong enough, he would imagine...

He wavered on his feet, putting the butt of his rifle on the ground and using it to steady him. "Yeed better hurrrryup," Laurie slurred, grinning again. "Or y'may have to drag me."

"Here we are" Daniel said as they neared the "Beached" ship. "Boots kindly get our friend a bottle".

Boots had to hold her head down as she crossed the small, low-ceilinged cargo-hold, to a crate labeled "potatoes." Prying off the lid, she pushed aside a layer of russets, and removed a bottle of fine, expensive whiskey.

The drunk man had plopped himself down at the table by the time time that Boots entered, where Daniel was setting up a small phonograph. The ships cabin was small but comfortable. The fore-half of the room bore a table and a small woodstove. The rear-half of the room, separated from the front by a heavy curtain, held several large trunks and two hammocks hanging from the rafters.
"So to whom, exactly, do we owe this little dainty?" Boots said handing the bottle to the man.

Laurie took the bottle, popping off the top and taking a swig. He rolled his eyes appreciatively before corking putting down the bottle and touching the back of his hand to his mouth. "Och, this is good stuff!" he exclaimed as a compliment, raising his eyebrows. "You lot know 'ow what hooch 'a buy," he said, more of his Irish accent coming through the more inebriated he got. "M'name's Ke-"

He paused, cutting himself off as if he'd just remembered something, took a swig of the whiskey again, and smiled winningly. "M'name's Keegan. Laurie Keegan," he said, slamming down the bottle, stumbling to his feet, and giving a rather courtly bow for a drunkard. "And you two are?" he said, with another smile for Boots.

((Yes, he can and will drive Boots insane with his flirting, because he can. =D))

"Well nice ta meet ya Laurie, my name is Daniel Walker and this is my cousin Sarah Windson".

"You can call me Boots, everyone else does." Boots added.

Laurie looked both of them up and down, then smiled again, tilting his hat back and taking another swig of the whisky. "Boots, Walker," he said, half-mumbling to himself. "I'm a pilot," he said, sharing a little about himself. It seemed appropriate enough... "And you're smugglers, by the looks of it," he said, frankly admiring the color in the whiskey. "Not that I dissaprove, but ya haven't been shanghaied by the Vaughans yet?" The question seemed offhand, spurred on by the drunkenness...

But he wasn't nearly as drunk as he looked.

This could be very dangerous, if they'd had contact with the Vaughans. He wasn't exactly very popular with them right now... if they were, he'd kiss the lady's hand and hightail out of there - liquor in hand, of course.

"Vaughan.... Where have I heard that before?" Boots pondered. "Ah, wasn't that the name that creepy fellow gave us a few months back?" Without waiting for a reply she continued to Laurie, "He wanted us to sign a contract without knowing what we would be hauling. We're no fools --- and we stay out of the nasty stuff."

"Ya we're a pair of saints us", Daniel said laughing at his own joke.
"But no, seriously, we dont like not knowing where the wind blows if ya catch ma drift".

Laurie grinned, then took another swig of his alcohol. "Good, I just wanteda clear that up," he said, pulling off and slinging it over his knee. "If y'were, I was a-plannin' on hightailin' it outta here faster than you could say split," he said, slowly growing more and more inebriated as the strong alcohol trickled down his gullet.

"You said "Pilot,"" Boots put in before Laurie could get any drunker. "You would not happen to know how to patch a deflated balloon would you?" She nodded toward the cabin door and the canvas mess beyond, then explained, "We can't just take her to a shop on account of err... legal issues."

Laurie chugged down the last of the alcohol, slamming the bottle down. "Nothin' to it, m'dahrlin," he said with another smile. "I've a-been flyin' since I was a boy. It-ood be a bit silly if I couldn't fix a balloooon," he said, smiling once more before passing out off of the stool, having drunk himself into insensibility.

Boots picked up the empty bottle and set it on the table. "Right. Well then, that takes care of the balloon problem. I'll go tie up one of the spare hammocks."



Light glinted along the blade's edge, as Boots' sabre flashed in the crisp morning air. Her heart pounded in her chest and sweat ran down her back, as she flicked her blade forward for a stop-cut, jumped back, spun on her back foot and lunged into a side-cut. She recovered into fifth parry, and then back to en guarde.

Boots paused to catch her breath. The sand was furrowed from her foot-work. She liked to train on rough terrain, as fights rarely happen on ideal circumstances. She was strong of arm, fleet of foot, and never let her skills dull. Her and Daniel kept to the honest side of smuggling, but they often dealt in bad areas, and it was her sword that she relied on to keep them safe.

She glanced back at the ship. The others must still be sleeping, she thought.

She held her sword out strait, centering her weight on her front leg, and retreated in point line....

The walk had been long, and she was now exhausted. She reached the police station, where she could see several officers doing balloon drills behind the building. She gave a hearty laugh to herself, but deep inside she'd always wanted to join the forces. She called herself a privateer, but she really only worked for herself. Besides, something about being paid for keeping the peace really seemed off. She wasn't able to join the official police force, she had some secrets in her past that she was not proud of...and the law wouldn't exactly smile upon either.
Being a privateer was her choice in life, an independent worker for the law...No, not for the law, only for justice. The law was sometimes unjust. Too much greed went on.

She loitered for a minute, watching the trio walk off. She heard something in the lines of alcohol stash. She could do nothing by herself, nor did she want to report them to the cops. But she could use some help, and the police often were willing to help the independent privateers, (though in some districts they were absolutely hated.)

She strolled in and sized up the situation. A man sitting behind the desk leaned forward with a smile, "How can I help you, miss?" He asked.
She tried not to show any visible disgust, but plastered on a smile and said,
"I'd like to report a stolen air balloon, sir. That belongs to Miss Vera Kilgrin. Yes, I'd like to see the felon if he is caught as well..."
She told him briefly where he could reach her, and then left. That'd serve her mutinous crew alright. Dirty alcoholics, the bunch of em.

"These hammocks will be the death of me", Daniel said as he picked himself off the floor.
He could sell a magistrate his own wig, but he just couldn't seem to stay in a hammock all night. Opening a small window at the side of the wall, he saw Boots practicing with her saber.
"Hey, did you make breakfast?".