Forums » Sci-Fi Roleplay » A Lonesome Moon (Open!) (Dead)

((The rp is young, hop right in! Edit: Not gonna lie, this is setting itself up to be a potentially crazy saloon shoot out scene.))

Riagan's mask belied no emotion but as he entered the crowded room the cyborg felt his pulse quicken. He followed the two, lingering enough behind the hasty Jesse and massive Zyro to observe safely as the former fell over inside. Even as he'd entered he was (literally and figuratively) overshadowed by their alien companion; fine by him. As the trio congregated at the bar counter Riagan scanned the other patrons, quickly picking up on many of the same individuals the Yvarza did.

The shortest mercenary leaned against the bar as the other two spoke, scanning the shelves of alcohol behind the bar keep. Then he added, "Any cider?" Not the cyborg's first choice, but sentimentality drew him towards the choice. In the meantime he scanned the room again, with a different reason than simple observation.

The barkeeper collected Zyro's offering and placed two beer mugs full of a dark purple alien liquid on the counter. Zyro slid off his mask and placed it on the counter beside him, revealing his olive green snake eyes and black tattoos of alien symbols that cascaded across his lizard face. "And here I thought they wouldn't have beer brewed from my motherland," he crowed, taking a brief chug from one of the mugs, immediately feeling a buzzing in the back of his head. It tasted sour, and the stuff was definitely far more potent than the usual alcoholic drink.

"This place reminds me of my motherland, except with much less snow," the Yvarza chuckled, trying to start some idle chitchat, and took another sip of his beverage. "I haven't been in a bar like this for a long time. It's the perfect breeding ground for mercenaries and guns-for-hire, these places." Zyro had a nostalgic tone to his voice, as if he was delving back into old precious memories of days long passed. He chugged down the rest of his first drink, and let his gaze wander back over to the rest of the room.

The barkeep nodded to Riagan's request. "Yep," He said drily, "we got apple, Vaquero Limited,-" He pointed at the bottles, first at the generic brandless apple cider, then to the more extravagant Vaquero Limited, which hosted a dark silhouette of a cowboy atop a horse (or vaquero, in this case). "sparkling, white, dry, black, Hummingbane,-" his finger glided over a bottle with what appeared to be a hummingbird impaled on an arrow. "Cygnus Prospector's,-" His finger finally glided over to a bottle with an auto-pick (which looked more akin to a jackhammer, but also retaining a pickaxe feel) on its face, before his finger glided over the more generic bottles. Riagan had a bit to choose from, it seemed.

Jesse sat there consuming his bottle of cheap wine. His eyes later drifted to Zyro's drinks. He looked as if he had seen gold for the first time. "What de-..." He began, but coughed violently, almost like he was hacking up his lung. "Oy, Lizardman, can ah have a go at one o' dem?" If Zyro allowed him, he would simply drink a bit of the liquid without thanks, but if he didn't, he'd simply go back to his wine.

When Zyro spoke of his motherland, he simply listened with difficulty. He could swear he was about to faint. He laughed once he mentioned guns-for-hire. "Like me..." He began. "Though I can't imagine many people'd like teh hire me. Everyone who knows me, hates me."

Zyro gave Jesse a toothy grin, revealing his snake-like fangs, and slid his mug over to the human gunslinger. "Yvarza-brewed," he went on. "Drug-like substances are often brewed into the beers from my motherland to add an extra kick since my species is very resilient to alcohol. Drink more than half of a mug and you'll find yourself both drunk and in a drug-induced high." Zyro cocked his head back. "Though humans can't handle the stuff and often go unconscious a few sips in," He dared heartily.

Zyro placed a few more of his native currencies on the counter and ordered two more mugs of the same beverage. "But prove me wrong and drink a Yvarza's share without slipping into a coma, and I'll buy you all the alcohol you want with all the current money in my pocket." Zyro was always a gambler, and even if he didn't have the chance to get something in return, the simple thrill of the possibility of losing everything in a game of chance was enough to get him in a gambling mood.

After his explanation of the drink, he looked to his bottle of cheap wine and slid it across the counter, over to Riagan. "Ye can keep that." Narcotic enhanced alcohol? Now that was something he'd never heard of. Despite being a small man, Jesse was more than confident that he could take anything. Hell, he'd take it if it'd kill him (which the thought of, sounded almost exciting to him), alas, a coma was an interesting enough concept to him.

He grinned mischievously. "Yer on, Lizardman." Taking the mug of alien brew, he sipped it once more. The potency of the alcohol was incredible to him. His face contorted heavily as he tried to adjust to the drink's insanely high alcohol content. He sat there for a moment, trying to comprehend the fermented narcotics.

((Perhaps this would be a good time to describe the side-effects?))

((i'd say it's kinda like marijuana, give or take. hallucinations, dizziness, general "far our man"-ness. feel free to make some side-effects up if you want.))

"Too much for you?" Zyro teased heartily, grinning widely in triumph of his one-way dare. "Of course, it wasn't brewed for weak humans; it was brewed with the sole intent of making the most iron-sensed Yvarza pass out. No shame in not being able to handle it."

Zyro stifled an amused chuckle and took a sip from his own mug, already being able to feel the faint senses of tipsy creeping into the back of his mind. He couldn't fathom what the beverage would do to Jesse, but worst-case-scenario was the human blacking out. Maybe. "Drink just a quarter more and I'll buy you one beer of your choosing," he offered, lowering the bar, and not wanting to accidentally send his new comrade into a coma.

Jesse laughed and fell off his chair, onto the floor. He was smiling like a damn goof. "Nonsense..." He said cheerily. "I have not yet begun to defile myself..." He attempted to get up back onto the counter, reaching for his glass, only barely grasping the handle and chugging the rest down like a thirsty stallion. Only he didn't down it out of free-will, oh no, he drank simply because he was angled at a lower elevation allowing him to down the liquid without even swallowing in time. As he drank more and more of the narcotic liquid, he could feel his body getting lighter, once downing the rest of the liquid, he simply allowed his body to free fall back on the rickety floorboards. Only this time, he didn't feel the stinging pain of his spine hitting the wood, instead, it felt almost... numb... He laid there, mouth wide in a grin, eyes staring at the ceiling.

"Ha!" He exclaimed in almost a high-pitched voice. "Ah beat'cha! Now ah can..." His vision began to blur, and soon enough, he felt as if his eyes were fogging up like the windscreen of a car. And right then, he closed his eyes and blissfully slipped out of consciousness. The whole time, he was smiling as if in love. As much as Zyro didn't want to knock him out, it was too late... The only signs of living was his twitching of his fingers and the rising and falling of his chest.

The barkeep looked over the counter and looked to Zyro. "If he's staying, he gotta pay rent, otherwise, get this asshole outta 'ere."

"Sthjegfy," Zyro muttered under his breath (a swear word in his language). He chugged down the rest of his drink, slid back on his mask, and stood up from his chair and slithered over to the unconscious human. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," he told the barkeep, and lifted Jesse in his arms.

He decided that his ship might be a good place to let Jesse sleep in peace, since his ship is an old pirate's starship and has enough room for an entire pirate's crew, but of course, it's just him manning the starship, so there's plenty of room to spare for unconscious guests. Plus he thought he owed the human a brief roof to sleep under for basically daring him to put himself into a coma. "My starship is a good place to rest," Zyro explained to Riagan. "You can come along if you'd like. Plenty of room for visitors."

((now might be a good time for a good old saloon brawl of sorts))

Umbralt had been silently sitting in the corner of the saloon. No drink, no food, nothing to read, no one to talk with. He simply sat there and observed. His charcoal grey cloak covered most of his body but what stood out was the fact that his eyes had a sickly yellow glow to them. Or at least that's what could be seen within his hood.

What is the joy in inebriation when you bring it to the point of destroying even the most basic of mental faculties?
Umbralt thought to himself.

He had been sent here on a simple mission to collect information. He simply decided to stay a bit longer. He already sent the needed information forward to his temporary employers.

Riagan studied his options before uttering, "Hummingbane." and turning just in time to collect the cheap wine. He pushed it aside, his own idle gesture indicating he didn't want it either. The cyborg observed as the other two drank a second time and snorted as Jesse went down. "Rest in peace." He quipped.

Then as Zyro collected Abrams' near-lifeless body from the ground, Riagan removed his helmet and begun chugging down his drink. While doing so he faintly recalled being told such a thing was a terrible idea, but ignored that (and the burning in his throat) to finish the drink as quickly as possible. Then he nodded toward the alien in confirmation.

"Yeah, sure." The helmet reconstructed itself over his face and the cyborg looked around again; this time out of habit. Riagan didn't think he'd really be resting there, however. That was when he caught glimpse of the enigmatic Umbralt in the back. He tilted his head somewhat, his intuition telling him just what the man was doing, though he had no idea who the stranger was there for. He grimaced and turned back toward the barkeep to idly pay his tab.

He could faintly hear the creak of the saloon doors as a new party entered the building.

((If you want to manage the reasoning behind the saloon brawl, I'm giving you guys the chance. Otherwise I'll figure it out, I just don't want to stifle someone else's ideas for the sake of my own.))

An automaton stepped into the saloon, accompanied by another Yvarza adorn in crimson and a 6-armed spider person. The robot looked ancient, rusty and twitching due to aged gears and pistons, and most of its pieces looked like they had been replaced with scrap metal long ago. It had a screen for a face, which was cracked, and a visor to protect its delicate glass face.

"Rerior!" The android exclaimed at the immediate notice of Zyro, its voice synthetic and metallic as though the sound was going through a tunnel. "Knew I'd find you here. I paid you, but you didn't do your damn job!" Zyro grumbled a sigh, clearly in no mood to deal with the machine at the moment. "I'll do your damn job when I can, but I'm a busy man."

Zyro reached for a pistol holstered at his hip and shot randomly. The bullet hit an alien patron in the shoulder, who must have thought the shot came from someone else, and all hell broke loose, and in a single second everyone in the saloon was at each other's throats in a massive drunken brawl. That'd certainly buy the Yvarza time to slip out of the saloon and escape back to his ship.

Despite all the chaos, Umbralt remained very calm. A brawl began to form near him and after it dispersed back into the larger fighting, Umbralt was gone.

Looks like I might get that bonus pay after all. Let's hope he isn't killed.

The cyborg turned as the Yvarza did, realizing early on that the place was about to burst into violence. And when the alien shot at one of the patrons, triggering those anticipated events, Riagan seemed to disappear where he stood.

Using the chaos as a distraction the man leapt silently over the counter-top and started to collect bottles of various drinks from the shelves. When he had enough to occupy his left arm he jumped back over the bar and crouched low, his eye on the exit.

Multiple times rampant gunfire streaked so close to the invisible mercenary that it nearly singed his armor; on one occasion an errant shot slammed into his shoulder, but his armor held firm and so the cyborg kept going. Zyro seemed to know what he was doing, so perhaps they could rendezvous outside.

Zyro weaved through the disorder, barely dodging stray bullets and awkward punches as he dragged Jesse along with him through the chaos. The lizard-man eventually made his way out of the saloon, barely even a scratch on him. "Hah," he crowed to himself. "Another flawless escape."

He stood by the entrance, waiting for Riagan, but stayed to the side so anyone stumbling out wouldn't be able to see him at first glance. "Should've seen the look on that android's face," he chuckled to Jesse's unconscious body, not expecting him to respond because of the aforementioned unconsciousness. "Artificial intelligence? Bah, there's no intelligence in that bot's head."

Within his largely comatose state, an itching persisted within the back of his mind. Through the conscious perspective of the mercenaries, Jesse was seen twitching his hands as stray bullets nearly clipped him. He dreamt of nothing, besides large seas and calm waters. For once in his life, he felt at peace with himself, despite him not being conscious to begin with.

He mumbled as he slowly began to regain consciousness, the itching going crazy once he was dragged out of the saloon away from the gunfight. A shame he couldn't participate, else... well, things wouldn't go well for those errant mercenaries. "Ugh..." Groaning, he brought his hand up to his head as a migraine surfaced within his mind. "Uh... what in Death's name just happened?" He groaned as he tried to get up. He couldn't help but nearly fall flat on his face yet again.

"W-where's mah helmet?" He said groggily as he looked up from the batwing doors ahead of them, where he could faintly catch sight of a gunfight ensuing through his blurry and wet eyes. "Well ah be damned..." Attempting to get up, he drew his peacemaker and tried to stumble his way back into the chaos.

Zyro watched Jesse slowly regain consciousness, genuinely surprised by how quickly he slipped out of his unconsciousness. "Don't," Zyro warned, raising his tail in front of the doors to keep Jesse from reentering the saloon. "You woke up too early. The effects of the beer are still probably lingering in your head, and trust me when I say you don't want to throw yourself into a gunfight when you're Yvarza-drunk."

He chuckled to himself, remembering the hilarious gunfights drunks had on his homeworld. When dizzying drugs were introduced into the brew, all drunken parties tended to forget how a gun worked, or were too mesmerized by their own hands that they forgot they were fighting in the first place and more often than not got killed as a result.

Jesse was having none of it. Grimacing, he shoved his tail aside. "What? Ye think ah'm some yellabelly whom values their life so much? Hogwash! Trust me when ah say this, Sir Lizard, that ah've tangoed with death more times than ye could comprehend and y'know what? He ain't half bad. Why worry about me anyway? My life ain't got no more value." And just like that, he pushed the past the lizardman and into the fire-lit saloon.

He stumbled at first through the batwing doors, his eyes too heavy to remain locked onto his targets. He had his finger firmly implanted on the trigger, so all he had to do now was cock and... He tried to use his thumb to do so, yet for some reason, he couldn't do it. As if the motivation was sucked out of him. His thumb went errant as it tried to pull back the hammer, going sideways, underneath, but never on point. He looked to his gun's cylinder and displayed utter confusion. With his gun out and straight in the open, almost anyone could potentially gun him down at that point...

((Jesse ain't gonna die yet. Just have them open fire on him and he'll be fine ))

Riagan eluded detection by the other patrons but found it difficult to wind around them; the result being that he arrived at the door just in time to see Jesse stumble in drunkenly. His eyes fell upon the reverend's mustache, then trailed back towards the bar (now the location where a local man was getting furiously throttled by an angry alien.) It didn't take long for him to spot the gunslinger's helmet. The mercenary grit his teeth as he mulled on one of the worst decisions of his life.

Once it was made the smaller mercenary laid the alcohol he stole on one of the side tables; he turned back towards the chaos, drew his handgun and looked for the android that started all this. If found, he'd aim and fire specifically at him. If not, he'd fire on the crowd (preferably towards those shooting in his general direction.) Though his cloak did not dissipate, it rippled with the energy released by his firearm.