Trespasser [Open] Jan 13, 2019 15:46:24 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Jan 13, 2019 15:46:24 GMT -6
Qube's PL: 11,943
Active Form: Suppressed
Today was a monumental occasion, for this was the day of Qube’s first big sale.
The men would take their time continuing to unload the remaining supplies from the back of the truck. A joke here, a prank on each other there, it was easy enough for their newest employer to note the camaraderie. This bunch had been together for quite some time as he had come to discover, each having served in the military during some faction war up north. Qube didn’t really find much of an interest to backstories, not unless they provided something useful or remotely interesting. The arcosian would stand near the center of the camp, looking about the makeshift settlement as he envisioned what would become of this place. He was the hand that could craft this little camp into a thriving new outpost, a well financed black market hub. Earth would be filled with an abundance of these, and would become a prime vassal of trade within the founding of his new empire. Qube was relishing the idea of the possibilities this planet might become, lost in a glorious daydream that blotted out his audacious reality. The sound of a crate being dropped broke his focus though, turning in time to witness one of the men scrambling to pick up a pile of loose grenades. The fella caught the boss staring at him, looking up to Qube with a sheepish smile, embarrassed by his own clumsiness.
Qube raised a brow at this when the man began to chuckle nervously. ”S-sorry boss! Crate got away from me!” Taking a moment to spit on the ground in front of him, Qube would turn toward the main tent, a dismissive wave cast over his right shoulder. ”You forgot one.” The simple statement from the boss confused the grunt for a moment, before he spied the rogue grenade sitting nearby a bush. Anxious to continue trying to impress the boss, and not wanting to spend all day counting frags, the man reached out to retrieve the handheld bomb. A click rang out in his ears, seconds before he cast a wide eyed look at the pin-less explosive in his hand. He made motion to speak, but all that was head was a loud explosion. Qube found himself near the tent as the sound rang through the clearing, prompting an exasperated sigh from the alien. Hopefully the buyers of these weapons weren’t within ear shot of this tom foolery, lest these oafs carelessness harm his reputation among clients.
Good Kami! You see the hell happened!?”
”No, Vito. I was bird watching.”
”Maybe Mikey saw what happened?”
”Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, where’s Johnson?”
The voices continued on, to the point where Qube found himself pinching the bridge of his nose out of irritation. Well that was just great, not even a day in this blasted place and already they were down a man. Just great. Lowering his hand to his side, the rustling of bushes not far from where he stood caught his ear. Suddenly, as though fate were displaying its whimsical nature on cue, an enigma would emerge from the foliage. Qube took a moment to eye this newcomer over, his own curiosity growing surrounding the stranger’s origin, mostly their presence in this seemingly desolate cocoa bongo. What men that weren’t preoccupied over their missing comrade, had dropped what they were doing, and raised their strapped rifles to aim them at the intruder. The arcosian was about to speak when the sound of hurried boots stopped him. Vito came running to join the others, leaving two of the soldiers near the truck to keep up their “search.” ”Boss! Johnson’s everywhere!” cried the soldier, as though Qube had been oblivious to the entire commotion. Qube simply kept his eyes on their freshly arrived guest, awaiting any sudden act of stupidity were this the heroic type of wanderer.
”Then pick up the mess, Mister Vito. Take Mr. Rory here with you,” ordered Qube in a casually dismissive tone, laced with subtle irritation. The man standing closest to the boss, a rather taller and edgy looking fellow, cast his newest employer a glare before taking his gun off stranger. He stepped closer to alien, bringing his face but mere inches from the other in a threatening manner. ”There better be beer in that truck,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at the shorter individual. Qube would simply give a jovial smile, unaffected by the thug’s antics as he stepped toward Qube. Rory and Vito would turn away from the group, and return to the others still searching. ”Well,” began Qube as he looked from the intruder, to his men with their rifles on him, then back to the teen’s curious eyes. ”You have our attention,” he would add with a chuckle. Each of the riflemen would laugh at the words, while the boss kept his distance from the enigma. Who was this wayfarer? What was so important they would risk getting shot over?
Each of the men made no motion to lower their weapons, trained on the intruder for any possible signs of hostility. They were adamant in their need to protect their newest employer. They saw Qube as their saving grace, a promise of gainful employment where none was to be found. Despite that they no longer could call West City their home, most of them felt that they could find a new one under the leadership of their new guide. Vito, Rory, and a pair of others went about kicking the mess into the nearby bushes, and wasted no time in retrieving supplies from the truck. The sound of glass clinking together would indicate to Qube, and the other mercs, that Rory probably found the beer. Another solid thud was heard, which could be witnessed as Vito dropping a heavy crate onto the damp soil. A grunt was made before he returned to the back of the truck, the distinct sound of bottle caps being popped could be heard faintly. The arcosian rolled his eyes at the sound, before they fell on the intruder once more. ”It must be paramount, the sating of this curiosity. Come, let us speak in my quarters.” The mercs from behind the truck would begin laughing, while the others lowered their weapons at last. Qube looked the enigma up and down, before turning away from them to walk away towards the main tent. He would raise a hand, gesturing over his shoulder for them to follow him to the makeshift abode. ”Back to work, gentlemen!” he would order, vanishing behind a worn, khaki tent flap.
The tent was filled with a wide assortment of Earth-made guns, knives, mods, and handheld explosives, strewn about several tables and stacked within dozens of crates. A chemistry station had also been set up for the creation of improvised explosive devices, varying in assortment from molotov cocktails to pipe bombs. There was a turntable and speaker playing an old arcosian record, and a rustic globe of the Earth whose frame had become rusted. Though for the sake of appearances, he grabbed a nearby stack of notes, and began siphoning through them with a thumb. Tossing them aside casually, letting them spread upon the table they landed, Qube would go about examining the guns inside more neatly stacked crates. It was at that point that one of the mercs would enter the tent, carrying a crystal liquor decanter and a pair of drinking glasses. Nodding to the stranger, the man moved his way around him toward a table sitting before Qube. As the arcosian sat down in the chair behind it, the merc would place the items on the table before him.
”Sorry boss, no ice.”
”There never is,” he would state dryly, pouring himself a drink before the merc saw himself out. Eyes falling upon the newcomer, they would narrow as the glass met Qube’s lips. After the liquid had been downed, and the piece returned to the table, the arcosian’s fingers would interlock as they rested next to it.
”Let us begin with your name.”