RP: 188604 [Flight of the Dove] Episode 1: Royal Flush

Several Hours Later...

Ice Queen Casino...

Mega-Annum Dove - Cockpit

"Everyone to the cockpit. We're here." Flynn announced as he took the controls. A few moments later, the Dove shuddered as it exited hyperspace. It was the off-season, it seemed, because finding a parking space wasn't too difficult. In fact, nothing actually seemed amiss. But exterior looks could be deceiving. It was a large structure, built to house thousands of gamblers, with an adjoining tower that served as the hotel portion.

Flynn followed the ground controller's instructions and shut off his engines as soon as the ship touched down.

"Alright, everyone listen up," said the smuggler. "Here's the plan: We have no clue where Sarena is, and so far it looks peachy around here. So, everyone keep your weapons tucked away and play it cool for the time being. Go in, try to blend in with the patrons, and try to find out where Sarena is. Understood? If things go south, we meet back at the ship."

"You think blending in is an option?" Eisley shrugged. She'd spent most of the ship trying and failing to understand the ship's mechanical portions. "I suppose I don't have any better ideas... We should stick together, though. That way, they might not notice that only one of us brought any money to spend."

Flying houses going on treks through the cosmos, space dogs, and fresh meals in a can... Promise was truly mystified, but still happy as a peach. On the other hand, they had now landed in front of the biggest card house the scraggly thing had ever seen, and she had to press her face right up against the cockpit's glass just to get a good look at it.

"Okay Mister Flynn." Was the simple confirmation that she heard him, immediately finding a way to sling that sawn-off shotgun beneath her oversized flannel skirt. "Will be blending right in, we will!"

"You ever been to a gamblin' hall there deary?" An excited hook grasped Eisley's sleeve. It was first time for both of them in space, so Promise figured they had some kind of kinship now, perhaps. "Good thing 'bout it is y'all can bet whatever you like as long as gleamin'!... Not that I ever win, but... Well, we gettin' paid just to be here anyhow, yah?"

"I used to own a gambling hall--the city owns it, now." Eisley was reluctant to discuss her experience with it, or what she'd learned on the subject. She shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough." She seemed to have nothing else to do to prepare, though her stomach didn't agree so well with Flynn's unusual food. Eisley's diet didn't have much variety, given that it was usually the standard algaeia with algaeia and a side of algaeia found throughout ports by the Great Salt Sea.

Cockpit

Flynn stood up in his chair and zipped up his jacket to better hide his pistol.

"Shall we?" he asked and walked from the room and out to the landing pad.

Eisley decided to follow along at Flynn's heel, though she was less eager to conceal her weapon. Long practice at least made sure that she could be about to draw it without looking like she was, which was an important a skill as being quick on the draw, itself, in what was left of the Osman Empire.

After taking a moment to refasten those elaborate boots, Promise skipped along behind the pair of them eagerly. Either they were so used to living off of scraps that the new food didn't effect them, or perhaps just too dunder-headed to show any outward signs.

"~Stepping into this outer world, may them uplivers deliver us truly~." In her hands, a leather-bound book was clasped, open to her chest. "~Knowingly in that will, I will bring justice as thy tool, I will.~"

Regardless of the subject matter coming out of her mouth, a free hand sought to wrap itself around Flynn's, eager to progress into this 'house of cards' and begin their adventure...

Cockpit to Casino

Corgan looked over at Ragna-dog, wondering if leaving him alone with Chuck was such a good idea. He had already concealed his HHG inside a hidden pocket inside of his duster, and a box of ammo. Ragna-dog started to follow him, but Corgan turned and said, "No, stay." The dog huffed and walked back over to sit by the door to the room Corgan had left his bag in.

Satisfied, Corgan walked out onto the landing pad. He thought about copying Promise's idea and acting like Eisley was with him. Maybe if he knew how she would react he would have. Instead of that, he rushed forward to walk in front of Flynn and play the bodyguard. He gave mean looks to anyone that got close to Flynn.

Normally, Eisley have been preoccupied with looking for potential threats while escorting someone, but the abrupt change in the local gravity and atmospheric conditions as she stepped down from the ship's ramp was distracting. Even the alien landscape failed to draw her attention away from these very visceral reminders of the sudden change in environment.

She walked carefully, watching the ground, as if someone had suddenly thrown her a loaded pack in mid-stride. Though she wasn't a noble, one of the perks of her status was always being able to afford a porter, so carrying an extra twenty kilos had never been one of her assigned tasks. She wasn't enjoying it, so far.

Given that Flynn wasn't exactly the handsy type, Promise kind of just ended up skipping alongside him, hands levitating a couple of inches away like she was trying to project some kind of positive force into his torso. Which, let's face it, might not have been too far from the truth.

The reality of the situation on this utterly alien world was slowly catching up with them, however, and it eventually caused her to start skipping backwards to get an eye on the other two members of the party. It was kind of hard to tell if they were limping because of the heavy steel gun strapped to their leg, or if there was yet more dysfunctionality that hadn't revealed itself yet.

"Dame Eisley Findley, of the Great Sea Findleys? Mister Cor-u-gun?" A questioning glance between them. Their voice had dimmed for the sake of subtlety, but only as much as one might during a school play. "What does this good lady we peepin' around for look like?... How do we know which ones is the bad'uns?... And what's a missul anyhow?"

Eisley struggled along on the other side of Flynn, bobbing her head in response. "Uh... she's very... tall. Taller than me. Her hair is dyed red; huge muscles, too. It might be hard to tell if she's wearing a space suit. They didn't say anything about 'bad'uns'. And a missile is a rocket." Eisley wasn't too concerned with the finer distinctions. "A sort of flying bomb."

Landing Zone

Flynn walked along, having grown used to Promise's antics by now, and simply choosing to ignore them. The beautiful part about an intergalactic society was that there were so many different cultures and races, that it really took no effort hide abnormal behavior; one just needed to claim they were from a different culture and they would be accepted in a heartbeat. However, in this case, it was true.

"Couldn't have explained it better myself," Flynn muttered to Dame. "Yeah, everyone basically be on the lookout for a giant, walking fruit salad with a gun- that was a figure of speech, Promise." he added quickly before Promise had a chance to flip shit.

Casino-Lobby

The unlikely quartet were allowed into the sprawling complex by a finely-dressed doorman, into a spacious lobby bustling with beings from every corner of the known galaxy. Lush, red carpets, white marble, gold trim, just about everything on the "luxury" checklist.

Flynn, in all honesty, hated places like this. He preferred darker, more cramped spaces, with a haze of cigarette smoke in the air, shady characters tucked away in corners, and a hint of danger.

"Everyone, just play it cool and keep your eyes peeled." he said as quietly as he could, still having to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the cacophony.

Casino-Lobby

Promise didn't know what a space suit was, but still nodded along with Lady Eisley's words enthusiastically.

"Of course the bombs seek to fly!" Obviously, this made some kind of sense to them. "For all things seek to become skyward, truly! It is the way of all things!..."

The fruit salad comment also gained the same sort of excited reaction, dropping out only slightly when Flynn dodged the bullet, and laid things out more cleanly...

Then, they actually went inside the building. A bigger lobby, more light bulbs, more people than Promise had seen in her entire life. Moreover, there was some kind of intensely energetic drum-and-squeak-music coming from some distant part of the ceiling, just audible over the drawl of the crowds... From those little boxes, perhaps?... It had finally shut them up alright. The side effect of causing her to dance moronically on the spot meant they might at least be mistaken for a garden variety drug abuser, and not an armed, dunderheaded, backwater clout.

What a fabulous time to be alive. What an delicious new vibe to orchestrate her limbs on the hunt to come. Her eye was open, looking out for the subject matter at hand...

Casino-Lobby

"I think the bombs seek to hit things... there's some that crawl, too." Eisley looked very uncomfortable sharing this. Fortunately for her, the conversation would be postponed.

Eisley was struck silent as much as Promise upon entering the casino, though she was more stunned and still. And yes, slack-jawed. It was going to take her a moment to get that jaw working again, though the hands at her belt never strayed from their ready position.

Lobby

Little did the crew know that they were being observed. On the other end of the thralls of party-goers and gamblers stood an inconspicuous man with dark hair in a fine, black suit. He looked like the kind of shady fellow that would work for the Black Syndicate. Anyone who came to that conclusion was right on the money.

The man studied the four, odd individuals. He watched the way they moved, he watched the way their eyes seemed to scan the crowd, on constant alert. He noticed the way their clothes bulged in their efforts to conceal their weapons. Then, he finally recognized the man in the brown, leather jacket.

He left his position and began weaving through the crowd, never creating so much as a ripple. He was a ghost.

"Welcome back to the Ice Queen Casino and Resort, Mr. Blackburn," greeted the man. He looked to the other three and nodded. "And guests."

"Hey there, Henchman." Flynn replied back with an easy grin, crossing his arms. All of the times he'd come here, this man had refused to tell Flynn his name. So, Flynn called him the only thing that seemed appropriate. "Henchman" didn't seem to find it as amusing as he did. The other man didn't outwardly show it, save for a small fidget of the hand.

"Tell me, are you looking to make some money?" asked "Henchman". Flynn shook his head.

"Nah, I don't do runs anymore." replied the former smuggler. The corner's of Henchman's mouth turned upward.

"No, Mr. Blackburn, you misunderstand. We're not asking you to make a delivery. This is something else entirely. Several mercenary groups are in on it as well. There's plenty of coin in it for all involved."

Flynn paused, looking back at the other four who'd come along on this journey. Henchman had just mentioned mercenary groups. Sarena worked for a mercenary group. It stood to reason that whatever Henchman was talking about was the reason that Sarena was here in the first place.

"I'm listening." Flynn muttered slowly, not wanting to commit to anything just yet. Henchman smiled and beckoned for the group to follow him through the casino.

"Follow me."

Lobby

"Business contacts, huh?" Eisley wasn't sure she wanted the answer to the question about the two mens' relationship, but she couldn't help asking. She leaned a bit closer to Flynn, and added, "This doesn't add up. With what I've heard, I mean." She followed regardless.

Lobby

Corgan smirked. He loved places like this. Some of the staff probably could recognize him from when Uso brought everyone here. He had certainly made quite an impression on two young ladies, in particular, he remembered. Walking through the casino, he was still impressed by the security in this place. If he was still running with the Azure Reapers, he would have loved the challenge of robbing this place blind. That is if he hadn't recognized the Syndicate immediately.

He looked around the room, scanning for anything suspicious. Nothing jumped out at him so far. Something was wrong, but he couldn't place it. He was anticipating things to go south any minute now.

Lobby

Promise didn't really know what was going on. These sort of machinations were over their head.

So, she just did what she always did in this kind of situation, and fumbled a cigarette into her lips. Lit it, exhaled. Made it look like she meant business, and gave her longer to think about responding, should any of these crazy-smart space-types ask her a question.

Clenchman didn't look all that tense, despite his name. Heck, he didn't even have his pistol belt on, which was a sure way for security peeps to get smoked, back were she was from.

Surely, something bigger was up here. Maybe his piece was up his sleeve, or down the front of his johns, perhaps...

Still puffing away, Promise absolutely refused to take her eye off him.

Casino - Main Floor

"I know. I know," Flynn replied under his breath. "But we're just gonna have to roll with it."

And little did Promise know that Henchman was not, in fact, armed. He didn't need to be. Not here. To pull something here would be to incur the wrath of the Syndicate.

Henchman led them to a nondescript door off to the side of the main gambling floor. It was a simple, metal door with an electronic keypad. Upon reaching it, Henchman swiped his ID card and lead them inside to a sterile, white hallway. At the end, guarding an elevator, were two men in suits, much like Henchman. The difference was, these guys carried assault rifles.

"Now, before I take you down, I must ask again: are you certain you wish to see this?" Henchman asked with a wry smile, glancing back over his shoulder at Flynn. Flynn didn't say anything, just nodded. And with that, one of the guards entered an elevator code, and the doors slid open. Henchman beckoned them inside. Once everyone was aboard, they started descending downwards into the planet.

Underground

The doors opened to a dimly lit hallway that was furnished with nothing but concrete. Black, metal doors lined it on either side. Henchman lead the quartet to the first door and knocked a very deliberate pattern. The door was opened by another man in a suit, with another assault rifle. Just what were the Syndicate hiding?

It was a control room, of sorts, with technicians sitting at various consoles. All attention seemed to be focused on a set of large screens on one wall, depicting a large, dirt-filled arena.

An arena, in which a small group of armed men were fighting for their lives against another group of men on airbikes.

"The latest in entertainment," Henchman commented, gesturing to the gruesome display. "Anonymous viewers have been paying top dollar to watch the oldest and most venerated of traditions: The Blood Sport."

One of the men on the airbikes raced past the group of mercenaries, a blade in his hand. In the next moment, a mercenary's head was rolling along the arena floor, with accompanying blood-spray. At that moment, Flynn's stomach churned. These were not special effects. At that very moment, real people were dying. For no better reason than to entertain an elite of the mentally-sick. Had Sarena already been inside that horrid place?!

"Look, buddy, we're not here to play your twisted game, we just came for-."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackburn," Henchman interrupted with a wicked grin as several armed guards blocked the one and only exit from the room. "But once you have agreed to witness the Blood Sport, you have agreed to take part in it."