Crew of The Defiant

"On the table." Boots called back.

"Thanks", Daniel yelled as walked to the tabel. "Breakfast, huh" he said as he picked up a can of Pears.

((I am on a ROLL, ladies and gentlemen. I have posted in... *counts* six of the role-plays I am currently participating in in the past hour. GO ME!

Oh, and by the way, Minion, table is spelled with the "e" at the END of the word. And I believe that "Daniel yelled as walked to the table" is a Tarzan sentence. =D))

Laurie tried to sit up, but his pounding head wouldn't let him as he struggled out of the hammock. He nearly collapsed on the floor, cursed colorfully, then felt around for his hat. It hadn't survived the night in the hammock and was curled up in a corner along with his gun, which he left in the corner. Now sober, he really didn't much like the thing.

Clapping his hat on his head and wincing at the ringing of his ears, he kept the brim shadowing his eyes as he walked half-blindly toward the breakfast table and collapsed in the chair with a groan. "Coffee?" he croaked, wincing at the painful light.

"Well, look who's alive!" Boots said, coming in from washing the sweat off her in the small ships bathroom (the door to which was outside on deck). "I bet you have quite the head-ache after last night." she said to Laurie.

((Hey everyone Mr. Methodical is having computer trouble, and has asked me to take over his character untill it is fixed so that we can continue. He will be back on in a few days.))

Danial took the coffee percolator from the small wood-stove and set it on the table next to the teapot. "Here", he said, handing Laurie a mug, and nodding to the open can. "Theres pears there for breakfast if you want."

((I'm not dead... just had an insane week. My uncle died, my friend had a non-stupid-teenage-drama crisis, I found out I couldn't drop these classes...))

((I'm not dead either, just couldn't really get into the roleplay, so I kind o gave up. Which is fine, I been busy too.))

((So are you not playing any more? Methodical is making an antagonist, so things should be easier. Or shall we continue without you?)))

Boots sifted through the myriad of sounds of the busy street, pin-pointing and following any sound that came near them. Her eyes scanned not only the surface of the crowd, but pierced through it. Her father had taught her well the art of hunting, and the skills were versatile. If there was any trouble like the day before she was not going to be caught off-guard.

Daniel and herself had left Laurie to mend the balloon aboard the ship wile they went into town to find a buyer for their cargo. Hopefully they would make enough profit to buy a new ship if they traded in the mended "Reckless" with it.

The pair ambled about until they found a likely target, a rather seedy looking tavern by the name of "The Blind Mouse".

"That face, now where have I seen that face before?", Edwards mused to himself as a pair of airmen walked into a tavern directly in front of the cafe where he sat drinking a cup of tea.
Edwards rose, payed his bill and departed. That face, he was unable to drive it from his mind.

Back at the small airsloop that he called home, Edwards opend a large trunk. Inside a file marked wanted, he found two posters, one of a young man and the second that of corse looking young women . "Ah, reckless endangerment of police property, fleeing arest, and suspected smugglers ", he said as he set the two wanted posters on his small desk. Edwards lay down on his bunk, he needed to think.

The tavern was densely crowded, and few of it's contents were sober. The mingled scents of smoke, alcohol, and body-oder hung heavy in the stuffy air. Wile Daniel sat down at a corner table across the room, negotiating with the owner, Boots wandered off. She disliked dealing in money-matters, and preferred to keep a look-out for police and such that might wander in.

A drunk man staggered up and let himself sag, hanging on Boots' shoulder.
"Ha, ha, yeeers not foolin' me in themm boy's-clothes lassy... Girlss don't come in heres much nowww, does they? Hehehehe..."

"Ugh," Boots grunted in disgust, shoving the man off her arm and moving away.

She found a small table facing the door and stationed herself there to keep watch, glancing back at her cousin occasionally. She could tell by his bearing that things were going well. Good. She smiled, leaning back in her chair with her hands behind her head. If Laurie was as good at patching balloons as he said he was then they would be in a new ship in no time.

Byron hadn't been at the tavern long but it wasn't hard to tell that he was pretty riled up about something. The two already empty mugs gave a clear picture of that. He gazed around the tavern while smelling the stench of drunkards and ripe body odor. The bartender polished a few glasses behind the counter, a fat man snoozed at an empty table, and a quiet exchange between a young lad and the tavern owner was taking place in the far corner.

"There seems to be some shady business amongst us," Byron commented with a smirk. With the last swig of his third mug, he contemplated " Probably thieves plotting their next undertaking or a murderous expedition or..."

Boots overheard the man at the table behind her, and turned with a half-smile playing across her lips. "Or smugglers..." she added casually, curious as to weather the nature of their business was apparent to the casual onlooker.

Byron turned and looked the speaker from head to toe and back again. "And what would a WOMAN know of such things?" he questioned with disdain.

Boots snorted derisively. "More than you would think."
Woman my foot! she thought. Boots did not like being called "woman", it made her think of high-heels and lipstick and the like. She preferred "lass", or even "girl", but "woman" just plain got under her skin.

Byron couldn't stop the loud burst of laughter. "Again, what would a woman know of smuggling?" He continued smugly, "For that matter what do woman know of the man's world. Women should be in the kitchen cooking or cleaning for when her man comes in."

That did it. Boots stood up drawing her sabre.
"Care to say that again?" she asked, resting the flat of the blade on the man's shoulder, with the edge threateningly close to his neck.

Chuckling at her discomfort of his words, Byron calmly replied,"Put the blade away missy. Before you hurt yourself that is."

The naked blade was beginning to draw attention from the tavern occupants, yet Boots remained where she was. "Oh, really? Like some tavern thug like yourself could even tell a pommel from a point!" she said, as a crowd began to form.

A slurred voice from the crowd called out for a fight, and a murmur spread through the onlookers.
Byron slowly stood to his feet while pushing the blade away from his throat with his finger. Anticipation engulfed his muscles as he replied to the chanting,"You're pretty brave while that pointy stick keeping a good distance between us. You wouldn't stand two minutes in a real fight, hand to hand that is."
He slightly grinned as he thought, So she wants to play with the big boys. Well she will learn her place quick enough.

Though she favored her sword, Boots was not without skill in a fist-fight. She sized up her opponent. He was bigger than her and definitely had the advantage in weight, but she was lithe, fast, and agile, and what she lacked in size she more than made up for in sheer ferocity. "Well, then you should have nothing to lose." said Boots, as she pulled off her coat and tossed it on to the table. She sheathed her sword with a snick, eyes trained on her foe as she unbuckled her sword from her belt. She removed the pistol from her belt, the slender dagger from her boot, and stood unarmed.

Byron eyed his adversary a moment before his coat and pistol were layed on the table as well. He knew better than to underestimate his opponent and though all his comments about being a woman were true in some cases this lass seemed to be well equipped and capable.
He moved forward as if to reply --- throwing the first punch in answer.

Boots dodged to the side, catching only a slight glancing blow to the cheek.

Byron could feel the contact of skin from the grazing punch, which caused the unsuspecting lass to stagger backwards. With arm pulled back, he pressed forward aiming another blow before she could recover.

Regaining her footing Boots pulled up her forearm above her head, deflecting the second blow upward and throwing a hard punch of her own to the man's now exposed ribs with a heavy thud. So that is how he wants to play, is it? she thought. Her cheek-bone was throbbing, but her blood was like fire in her veins and she payed it no heed.

Byron grunted at the sudden impact of the blow forcing him to back off a step. Taken aback by the ferocity if the hit, he rushed forward faking a swing to the head, then changing tact, tried to hook her legs out from under her.