Crew of The Defiant

Accustomed to fakes in fencing, Boots flinched deliberately, then jumping the man's searching foot sent a solid kick of her own to his midriff. A burst of drunken laughter began in the crowd and Boots grinned wolfishly.

Doubled over, Byron reddened with embarrassment. Laughter ran through the crowd and a sneer played across his foes face. Enough is enough, he thought, discreetly slipping his fingers into a set of brassknuckles. Making a quick jab toward her shoulder, he smashed the brass knuckles into her ribs, throwing her onto her back. Before she could get to her feet, a flip of Byron's wrist brought the barrel of the Apache Knuckle Duster face to face with the fallen girl. They did not call him the Knuckle-Buster for nothing.

Half winded and clutching at her ribs, Boots stared at the gun barrel. "You cheated." she wheezed.

Enjoying the predicament, a half grin played across his lips as he replied," You don't say?"

Still trying to regain her breath, Boots only glared defiantly in response for what seemed like ages, though was probably only a few moments.

Byron had to admit, the girl defiantly was tenacious when it came down to it, though he could not believe that she actually had taken off all her weapons. That was not a good move, he thought amusedly.

Nonchalantly folding the Knuckle Duster and placing it back in his pocket as the crowd dispersed, Byron folded his arms across his chest while leaning against a nearby table. "A little quick to disarm, huh?"

Boots winced as she cautiously got to her feet. If that last blow had been any harder it would have broken her ribs. "A little quick to go running to your guns for help, weren't you?"

"That looks pretty painful." Byron mockingly replied with a grin barely visible.

Putting on her topcoat, Boots clenched her jaw as the fabric pressed against the tender flesh. It hurt like hell-fire, but Boots was not about to tell him that. "I've had worse." she said shrugging it off.

The slight twitch in her jaw confirmed Byron's assumption. His respect for her skill in hand to hand was slightly heightened by the girls ability to make light of the pain she had to be feeling. He turned his attention from his winning to the next best thing. The lass's sword. He reached for the blade.

Boots had been picking up her boot knife when the stranger reached for her sabre, which was still on the table. She drew the knife and pointed it at him. "I don't like people touching my sword," she said warily.

Because of a more relaxed pose, Byron knew it was not a threat. Chuckling softly he removed his hand and returned to his leaning position. "Name's Byron by the way."

"Most people call me Boots," she stated flatly. Even though Byron had cheated shamelessly, losing the fight to someone who was not even sober had really taken the wind out of her sails (both figuratively and literaly).

The tavern seemed to all be looking at Boots. Even the drunkerds seemed to be looking in her general direction, which gave Daniel an uneasy feeling.
Rubbing his temples with his hand, Daniel tried not to think about how many times Boots had blown deals by be being hot headed.
quickly agreeing on a price far lower than he had hoped to get, he slowly got up and said a short prayer and hoped that the tavern folk were as stupid as they looked.

"Mary O'higgens", He said in a very convincing Irish accent, "what in the name of Peter, Paul and John are ya doin to this poor man".
Boots's face looked puzzled as she turned around trying to find this "Mary O'higgens".

"I'm Realy sorry gentleman, ya see she where droped as a child" Daniel said as he put his arm aroud boots's shoulder and started to get her out of the tavern.
"Oi! She dont sound Irish" said a more observant chap.
"Ah, she were the sheik of araby not two days ago" he said quickly, "a nice lass, but a bit daft. "Here have a drink on me". he said as he threw a few Pounds in the air.

In the rush to get at the free money, Daniel sliped Boots and himself out of the door discretely.

"Mary O'higgins...?" Boots hissed quietly, her cheeks reddening as she was forced hurriedly out the tavern door.

"Well you put me on the spot and I had to think of something" he said as they walked on the cobblestone street. "And what where ya think'n takeing off all your weapons like that?".

Boots blushed even more. She hadn't been thinking. It was not like her to be so impulsive, but that "Byron" as he had called himself, had really hit a nerve. But she was saved from having to answer, however, by a sudden realization. Her hand groped at her hip.
"We have to go back," she said frustratedly. "I left my sword in the tavern!"
Oh lovely, she thought. She really did not want to go back inside the tavern after Daniel's little ruse.

Byron was not fooled by the act. For a lass who could supposedly change character as often as a drunkard visits a tavern, she was without doubt a talented fighter, and as a fighter of her skill she sure as hell didn't learn it all in two days, or however long she has "played" this... Mary O'higgins. He watched the two travelers leave from the corner of his eye.

Boots left Daniel to return to the ship, insisting on retrieving her sword by herself. It was bad enough that she had to go back, and she certainly did not want her cousin making any more of a scene.

She picked her way back through the densely crowded street. Boots HATED crowds. She had a very sharp sense smell, and all the mingled purfume, body-oder, and food scents made her skin craw and her shoulders tence. And she felt vulnerable without the comforting weight of her sword on her hip...

It had been about ten minutes since the travelers had left when Byron, to his surprise, saw the lass's sword. "Maybe she was a little bit of an unusual character," he thought. No swordsman would EVER leave their sword behind. He reached for the sword and unsheathed it. "It sure is a beaut'." Byron contemplated. He walked outside to take a better look in the sunlight.

Boots instantly recognized the blade glistening in the afternoon light.
"My sword!" she said with relief as she approached. She had feared that it might be stolen by now, though knowing nothing about Byron (for it was Byron who held it) other than he fights well and cheats, she could not be sure that that had not been his intention. "Daniell dragged me out before I could grab it." she explained. "I was afraid someone in there might have taken it to pawn for beer money by now..."

At the same time that this was taking place, Boots cousin Daniel had decided that he would no longer be playing the role-play, and thus the Unwriten Rule was invoked.

Daniel stood idley in the cobblestone road where Boots had left him. Suddenly he became awere of a strange whistling sound that was quickly incresing in volume. He glanced up just in time to see a great Anvil plummeting from the heavens, and then it was apon him, smashing his head.

And thus Daniel was eliminated from the role-play by pain of Anvil. The remaining characters shall have no remorse for this compleatly random event, and shall continue the story as this was the death of a complete stranger.

"Well 'Mary O'higins' this puts you in a bit of a predicament then doesn't it," Byron replied with a twitch of amusement. "Tis a magnificent blade and I rather fancy it myself and since it was lieing on the table with not so much a person to claim it as their own... well, as I said, I am rather fond of it" Byron had no need for a sword. His work was quickly accomplished with iron fists but he couldn't help but patronize Boots.

Boots tenced. "First off," she said stiffly, "that is my sword. Second, my name is not Mary O'higins, my cousin is always making up stuff like that. And third, that is my sword." Boots was unsure of what she would do if Byron refused to give it back. Her ribs still ached painfully from thier first confrontation, and she had a feeling that threatening Byron with her gun would only lead to more trouble than it was worth. If only she had her sword she could... Ah, but that was the problem.

Byron immediatly noticed how rigid and unnerved she got at the mention of his taking her sword. He wanted to keep on at her but from the look in her eyes he knew she was planning and working out strategies. With a quick flick of his wrist he tossed it to her. He could take her one way or another if she tried but instead he just replied, "Aw, calm yourself down. I have no need a flimsy stick anyhow."