Concordia Veil - Central Airlock
Datsan turned his head slightly to the side, keeping his eyes on Amelia as if wondering if the young woman intended to offer further information, or perhaps showing a hint of doubt in her statement's authenticity, but the gentle smile on his face never faded. After a brief pause, during which Amelia said nothing more, Paul rapped his knuckles on the helmet tucked beneath his arm, stepping forward. "Well!" the younger man interjected in a disarmingly friendly tone, and shot a dreamy smile and wink in Amelia's direction. "Let's get on with it so we can get out of this lovely lady's hair, hmm?"
"Aye, let's," Datsan agreed, looking over at his partner with a nod, then back at Amelia, clearing his throat with a slow, grating, gurgling sound. The older man kept his congenial expression, but something about his presence made him appear much more bored with their duty, like the routine of inspection rounds had long since lost its appeal to him. "If you'd be so kind as to take us to the cargo bays. We'll need to have a quick look-see in your living quarters and cockpit, too, but don't worry, the things we're lookin' for ain't that small, so it won't take us long. And we don't plan on turning the place over; just gotta do a quick walk-through is all."
Ye Olde Den
Due to the upended table and splattered drinks, food, and other miscellanea, as well as the sudden and unwelcome intrusion on the shaky peace within the establishment, tempers immediately flared. The patrons that had been sitting around the now-upside-down table all simultaneously leaped to their feet, weaving an intricate tapestry of obscenities and curses in a few different languages, and all of their eyes immediately went towards who they perceived to be the source of the attack, although not all of them agreed on exactly who it was. Three sets of eyes - those of a masculine-looking Nepleslian woman with dreadlocks, a red-haired Minkan male, and another Nepleslian man with a shaved head - locked themselves on the downed Gartagen who had just tail-checked the unconscious man into their table, and two other pairs - a gray-scaled Gartagen and a smallish Nepleslian female with two bionic arms - brought their glares on Mitch.
Neither Mitch nor Ravakee noticed the ire aimed in their direction, however. Ravakee, flat on his back, reached to the side and nabbed another unoccupied barstool by the legs, kicking backwards with his feet to put a little distance between himself and the nasty-looking Mitch, who was now advancing on the downed Gartagen and brandishing a knife in his right hand, his left still anchored to the wrist of the dancing girl who was now trying to fight him off, furiously wriggling like a fish on a hook while she spat venomous insults, curses, and angry statements calling his masculinity and parentage into question. For a brief second, Mitch looked back over his shoulder, commanding the girl to be quiet in exceptionally harsh terms.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Ravakee brought the barstool in a fast arc in front of him in a violent swing, and the wooden chair smashed loudly on Mitch's knife-wielding arm, sending his weapon skipping across the floor. The Gartagen barely had the chance to get back on his feet, however, when the hulking Nepleslian female grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him back towards her confederates, sending him tumbling on the minimum semblance of balance across the floor while Mitch reeled in pain from the impact, releasing the girl as he cradled his smashed arm.
The shot from the newly-arrived Iromakuanhe rang out at that second, grazing his intended target on the shoulder, causing Mitch to spin the other way and yelp in agony from the second wound. The shot went through the beer glass of a table some distance behind him, causing it to explode into hundreds of tiny fragments streaming foamy comet tails of fermented liquid in every direction and soaking the man who had just been enjoying it. On the Black Moon, weapons fire was not so uncommon that anyone but the greenest residents shyed from it, so what Vel thought would surely startle the rowdier patrons into calming down actually only incited things further. The din and chaos in the bar escalated out of control in less than eight seconds.
Vel's threat was lost in the noise, and the only reply that the horned newcomer received was from a seven-foot, gorilla-armed ID-SOL. And the reply didn't come in words, but rather, in the form of a rear choke as the massive forearm of the gigantic superman wrapped under his chin and lifted him out of his seat, squeezing just enough to pinch Vel's airway closed.
Over to the far side of the bar, just outside of the perimeter of the rapidly-spreading bar brawl, Sienna groaned under her breath, less out of alarm, and more out of little more than frustration as she quickly took stock of her surroundings, backing up closer to the wall, but making sure to leave herself a clear path to the exit in case things really started to deteriorate. "This is gonna screw us up," she shouted to Oreza over the crashing, cursing, and yelling. She checked the clasp on her pistol, ensuring that it was free in its holster in the case that she would have to use it.
Another thin, wiry Freespacer patron was thrown - literally thrown - through the air towards Oreza and Sienna, sailing feet over head over a table before landing on Oreza's chest, bowling him backwards with almost enough force to bring the large man to the ground, but otherwise bounced off of him and collapsed in a heap at their feet.
