MissingNo
Inactive Member
Sometime between the end of the Kennewes Offensive and the formation of Cirrus Station's Squad 35...
A large, beast of a man walked down the streets of Funky City. He was quite a sight, his large metal jaw shining in the city's clouded moonlight. More inspection of the man's face would indicate he was feeling very alone and desolate. One could even say he looked desperate, at least at a first glance. However, Stromm Kumorok Dekomir was just walking the streets, broken and distorted. His mother's death had left him an empty husk, as a golem is without a soul. So now, he wondered the streets in a way to find consolation for his own lost soul.
People stayed out of the way of the large Security Sargent by instinct. Most of them didn't look too closely at him, either, but the few who did let him pass with whispers and mutters in his wake. A drunk stumbled out of one of the more run-down taverns in the city (due more to the frequency of the fights there than any lack of money), almost falling down the couple of steps and sloshing the lager in his stein as he tried finding a place where the ground wasn't moving beneath his feet. He missed the last step just as Stromm passed in front of him.
Stromm's stride stopped abruptly as the drunk's clumsiness caused contact to the Sergeant's side. The taller, more solid Stromm was like stone as he seemed to be registering what had just happened. The Sergeant's head rotated on a ball axis as he looked down at the drunk. There was not much of response from him, he just stared vacantly, awaiting a response from the drunkard.
The man's drink sloshed heavily, a large amount arcing through the air to splash to the ground in front of both of them. The man recovered enough to take his weight off of Stromm -- or maybe he just bounced off -- and stared at the brown puddle as the last of the bubbles slowly popped. The remaining amount in the stein slowly drained over the lip of the cup in the man's tilted grip. The drunk finally looked up...and then a little more 'up' until he found where he thought Stromm's eyes were. "Ye OWE an'utter drink to meee, YEAH?" he slurred. "I WASN' FINISH'T with...wit it."
Stromm's eyes lit, his shallow mercy from the drunk just ran dry. So with that, the Sergeant got grip of the man with his organic hand, and then raised his metal fist to the man's face.
"Would you like payment in iron or steel." Stromm spat.
The man just stared at the fist blearily. Meanwhile the tavern door slammed open and another man -- much less drunk than the one in Stromm's grip -- filled the doorway. He was large. It only stood to reason, since the one demanding a return on the drink was a scrawny fella. That meant, of course, that his friend was a bear of a man that would have been impressive in his own right had Stromm been more of a normal build. The newcomer was on the smallish end of being a half-ID-SOL, only a foot below the security officer's height and probably close to him in weight. "Jus' watta ya think you're doin' to him!" bellowed the larger of the two drunks.
Stromm eyed the bigger man, he considered his options as he looked down and up in between the two. He tilted his head, then straightened a little more.
"Playing ball." Stromm said, grabbing the smaller man by the throat with his organic hand, and his groin with his cybernetic. With that, he began to pick up the smaller man and then, using the power in his cybernetic arm, threw the man towards the larger. "Catch!" Stromm growled.
The two collided and ended up a sorry-looking jumble of limbs that blocked the door, but the large one growled and shoved his friend off to one side of the doorway. "I'mna beat yer metal mandible off an' give it to yer mama to use fer dentures!" he said, death in his voice.
"C'mon, let 'em off, he isn't in no mood to fight. Shiv jus' made another fool o' himself, a'right?" A female voice came from further back in the tavern and soon the owner of the voice jogged out after Stromm's pursuer. "Look, I'll get ya both drinks. On the house, 'll that settle it good 'nough for you?" She glanced up at Stromm with one organic eye and one cybernetic eye that glowed a dim shade of blue (similar to the infamous critical error screen of a certain reviled Nepleslian computer system) and an expression that said she would prefer he take her offer.
Stromm made a low growl, something intimidating, but soon found the fire of his growl to extinguish quickly. He didn't know why, but he couldn't help but be interested in the woman's offer. The Sergeant looked down sidewalk, seeing that he had attracted a bit of attention with his throw. He then turned back to the owner, his look anger subsided, the old empty look replacing it. Stromm nodded to the woman and made his way up into the tavern.
"Good." The woman smiled, a little relief in her voice. "An' you?" The second man didn't look happy, but his resistance was about as strong as Stromm's to the woman's offer. He glared at Stromm and headed back inside, picking up his buddy on the way in and carrying the smaller fellow over his shoulder and dumping him into an empty booth. The woman headed inside after them and hopped over the bartop. She grabbed a couple heavy mugs and set them on the bar, glancing over her shoulder at Stromm as she did. "What's your poison?" she asked, trying to sound upbeat.
The tavern was fairly full, but mostly with regulars by the look of them. The bar had nearly all of the stools filled (unless someone counted the empty stools in between the groups of drinking buddies) but many of the tables were occupied by only one or two patrons each. The large guy returned to the bar after dumping his friend off, but didn't take a seat. "A Gordon's Crowbar Lager," he said and took it as soon as she'd poured it, leaving another ill-tempered look at Stromm before rejoining his friend.
Stromm reached into his wallet put twenty DA on the table. "Cheap shit... Stuff that makes you forget." Stromm growled.
The woman's smile dampened a little, but she nodded and got out a dirty-looking bottle, setting it on the bar with a shot-glass...but she also left the mug there. "That's seven DA, so ya got two more bottles comin' if ya like it," she said, pocketing the bill. A glass hit the bartop halfway down the line, and she glanced over before looking back at Stromm. She could tell he was hurting, and his order had just confirmed her guess. "I'll be back in a sec, call if ya want an'thing else, hun," she said, then moved down the line to tend to the empty glass.
Stromm's breaths hummed quietly through his jaw, his drink sat in front of him, becoming warmer with the passing minutes. His eyes drifted off the distance, looking towards the past. He saw himself, along with the entire Dekomir family.
Almost every member of the family was torn into tears that day, even the iron-willed Lamoco the 1st (Stromm's father) was draped over the casket screaming into the sky and crying. The only two who weren't bawling uncontrollably were Stromm and Lamoco the 2nd. The two of them both stood stalwart and side-by-side as they stared at the box holding their dear mother.
Both brothers were the eldest of the family, both felt they had to be strong in the gripping time. It was quite easy for Lamoco II to face this compared to his brother. Stromm had returned from duty after a bloody account in the Kennewes Offensive, and being temporarily put on leave for mental health reasons.
Stromm then jerked in his chair, his organic hand rushing up to his jaw, as if to make sure it was still there. His breathing became uneasy as the shock washed over him, and he then tilted his head downward as if ashamed of his sudden movement. Reliving the fear of his jaw being torn from him hand haunted him since the Kennewes Offensive, and he found himself constantly touch and feeling to see if it was still there.
"So, how's the dri-..." The woman returned after replenishing the local alcohol supply, pausing when she noticed Stromm's glass was still full. "Somethin' wrong?" she asked, concerned.
Stromm looked at the woman out of the corner of his eyes, and then looked away. "I don't drink..." said the large Nepleslian.
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, then dug into her pocket and set the bill back on the counter. "Eh, it was supposed to be on th' house anyways, right?" she said with an attempt at a smile. Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. "Seems somethin' else might be th' matter, though, isn't there? Ya gave a start a second ago...mem'ries?" she asked, her voice dropping to a half-whisper on the last word. "It may not be in the contract job description, but y'know I'm here if ya need an ear to listen to y'r problems, righ'?" she added, almost as an afterthought.
Stromm's eyes followed the woman's hands as she put the money back on the table. He looked at her for a moment as she seemed to take interest in his problem. The Sergeant growled, "I don't need a shrink..."
Her organic eye frowned and she straightened up, planting her knuckles on her hips with indignation. "Hey, now, I ain't no psychologist, an' don't dare infer that I am!" she growled. "If that's what ya need, no bar, tavern, or club in town's gonna help ya there. I'm jus' offerin' to hear ya out 'cause it looked like you'd taken a bit o' drama trauma. And if there's one thing I've learned from bein' 'ere FIFTEEN years it's that EVERYONE can use some venting time. Even ya hard-ass military types.
"Oth'wise, if ya ain't gonna drink and ya ain't gonna talk, take a good look in that mirror-" she gestured to the mirror that covered the wall behind her that was spotted with shelves and booze containers with the occasional open spot. "-an ask yourself 'Why'm I in a bar I ain't gonna talk or drink in?' Once ya find your answer, lemme know. Oth'wise, you can go."
"All I see is a broken soldier in that mirror... Someone... Someone who doesn't have a thing in his life, but his own pride..." Stromm said, taking a deeper look in the mirror than he had meant. He turned, and dipped his head. "I saw someone who lost his jaw on these streets to close friends. Someone who lost that jaw again on Kennewes and lives with the waking fear that it may be torn away from him again. Someone who lost his mother to a shitty driver. A man stripped of his duty by... 'Mental Combat Stress Syndrome'..." Stromm growled lowly.
When Stromm finished, the eyebrow over the woman's organic eye lifted. "That's quite a bit to be carryin' around with you..." she said, her hands dropping from her hips and picking up a bar towel just to have something in one of them. "You fought at Kennewes? I had a brother stationed there..." Her voice trailed off and she absently started moving the towel over the countertop. The Kennewes Offensive had been finished for a while now and she'd still had no word from her brother...She looked up at Stromm with a sideways kinda look. "Your mother...how long has it been?" she prodded gently.
"Since the end of the Offensive, I found out that she died at the end of the battle." Stromm looked up at her, meeting the bartender in the eyes.
"Damn..." she whispered, glancing down at the countertop for a moment before looking back at Stromm. "So you musta just come back from the funeral. Hell of a welcome home..." The woman went silent for a little while. "I'm sorry for your loss..." she said finally, putting a hand on his wrist. "Is' ere anything you do drink? I could getcha some o' that..."
Stromm arched a brow, "What do you have?"
"Well...I do have a few syrups and juices that I keep for people who want the occasional mixer...orange, tomato, apple, stuff like that." She glanced under the counter, opening one of the minifridges to check.
"Eh... Nothing, I'm not too thirsty... My stomach won't really accept much these days anyway." Stromm waved to the side.
"Water, then." She got him a glass and filled it, removing the bottle and mug she had put there to begin with.
Stromm's brows lifted a little, he grinned a silvery grin and then gripped the mug. The large Nepleslian sipped from the cup. "So tell me, how many times a day do you get men like me coming through here? You seem to be well-practiced." He chuckled behind his glass.
Either he was a fast recovery or he was trying to distract himself...she lifted a brow too when she saw him smile and chuckle, but the woman decided to play along. "Well, lots o' people come in to have a li'l relaxin' time, but we get our share of people wantin' to drown their sorrows, ya know what I mean?" She put away the bottle of booze and put her palms on the bartop, glancing down the bar to see if there were any empty bottles before looking back at Stromm again. Even with the metal jaw, he wasn't too bad-lookin'...then she mentally stopped herself. No more damaged goods, she thought. "There are enough bars in town for them t' go aroun', but I see 'em from time to time. You're a bit of an exception, I gotta say. Mind if I ask why the alcohol avoidance?"
"My father whipped into my mind that alcohol is a distraction, only a weak man drinks." Stromm grunted, rubbing down his chin with his organic hand. He then raised his glass to his mouth, and then drank from it. "Ironically enough, he was the one who started to drink the night of my mothers death, not me."
"Mm, good advice for th' most part. Mine, well, his gran-da built this tavern from the ground up, so it wasn' much of a matter of drinkin' or not, but knowin' when ta stop. 'Moderation in all things,' that was his motto. Unfortunately, Momma found his weakness for women a bit early, now he can't much enjoy that particular vice of his," she said with a wry smile. "Turns out it doesn't matter what you think you can handle, if you're weak to it you'll overdo it. Kinda like an elemental opposition in one of those interNep RPGs, ya know? Fire is good an' all, but give it somethin' it is weak against like water and you'll do more damage than normal...Dang, blew my cover, didn' I?" she said, her smile shifting to showing a little embarrassment.
Adorable, she still plays video games. thought Stromm. "No problem in private indulgence, keeps life interesting. Despite my raisings, I don't look down on people for their personal enjoyments, just their actions." He said, then continued, "Then again, people still think I'm a hard ass for it.
"That's another weakness, you know, not a natural one, but one you put on yourself. However, I've learned in recent weeks that such a weakness is only as powerful as you make it. If you think Video Games are the weakness to your 'image', then you can either sit and take peoples opinions..." Stromm sipped from the cup and the slammed it on the table. "...Or get in their face and ask them if they have a problem with what you like."
She nodded, but shrugged too. While she still liked the games, the stereotypes that went with it would be detrimental to her street cred. "Yeah...well, what do you like? My brother tells me they kept him busy, but ya still have to have some time to yourself, right?" she asked, trying to turn the subject.
"Never played." Stromm said plainly.
"I meant "do ya 'ave any hobbies", smart-ass," she retorted, smirking.
Hm, kitten has claws. He chuckled mentally. "Wel-... Er... There is... Uh... Well... There is the military." Stromm said searchingly.
The woman shook her head in mock disappointment, but waited to see if he'd find anything before commenting. Plus it was amusing to see him flustered like this...
"What?" Stromm arched a brow.
She looked a little surprised. "So you've made your job your life, then?" she asked, the question genuine instead of joking in the way she said it.
"My father made the military my life, I didn't really know anything else. I woke up and faced my father's hard-ass rituals from dawn to dusk." Stromm grunted, remembering his Peking-style upbringing.
"Hm. Well, what're you gonna do with your leave, then? Bug your superiors to let ya back onto a ship?"
"Probably." Stromm grinned a silver grin.
"How much time ya got planetside?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. He needs somethin' else to do instead o' wastin' his time off...that's all, she thought. Anyone could see that the guy needed some distracting, some sorta hobby...tossin' drunks around taverns wasn't her idea of a hobby. Well...she'd seen a few ID-SOL types take it up and call it one, but it wasn't on her list officially.
"Until the Doctor says I'm fit for combat again." said Stromm, annoyed.
"An' what does he consider 'fit for combat'?" she inquired.
"If I knew, I'd already be back on Kennewes. So, apparently, I've got a long while." Stromm grunted.
"So you might as well have some fun and relax, if it's bein' forced on you," she mused. "An' since you're clearly not going to be able to enjoy your current hobby, we're gonna just have to find you a new one," she finished, planting her palms on the bartop and smiling at him with a look that said he would have a hard time arguing his way out of this one short of just walking out the door then and there...question was, would he? After all, he _did_ have the time...and, even with a rather distracting blue screen over her missing eye, the woman wasn't hard on the eyes. But somehow he would get the feeling she wasn't talking about that good-ol'-Nepleslian-sort of fun.
"We're?" Stromm arched a brow at the woman who seemed to be taking a deep interest in him. Normally, Stromm was never this social, neither would he had let that 'we're' get off so easily. For some reason, though, he felt it was just right to talk to her. Despite the compromise in his social security which he had built over the years, it felt good to actually socialize. It was a nice discovery, strange that it was brought on by his mother's death. "Well, before 'we' do 'anything', I've got to know your name." Stromm said, planting his metal chin on his metal fist.
"Troya." She offered her hand to Stromm. "Everyone calls me 'Troy', though. Parents wanted a boy, got me instead, so Mama just added a letter an' they called it good," she said with a smile. "An' what might you answer to?"
"Troya..." Stromm seemed to play with it in his mind for a moment before he decided to respond. "I am Stromm Kumorok Dekomir, my father wanted a manly name for his boy, so he thought of the toughest name he could."
"Don't tell me he was the one who got ya th' metal jaw instead of a synthetic," Troy said with a short laugh. "If strength, discipline, an' plain intimidation are any measure, I'd think you were more 'manly' than most of the guys in here...but don' tell them I said that," she added in a half-whisper.
Stromm chuckled at Troya, a little amused by her joke. "That means a lot, thank you." Stromm said, rubbing his metal handiwork of a chin. "The Chin was more of an accident than anything, really."
Thunk, thunk. An empty bottle hit the bar top a few stools down the line, earning a faintly annoyed glance from Troy that quickly vanished. Just when it was gettin' good! Well, at least she knew Stromm wasn't going to get up and walk out now..."Uh...one moment. I'mna ask what that accident was when I get back, though," she said, giving a smile to the Sergeant before grabbing another bottle and heading over toward the refill 'request'. "Wait, you've had enough for t'night," she said to the drunk, getting a look at him when she got closer. "C'mon, we need ta get you a ride home now. Tha's right..." Jogging by Stromm again, Troy paused when she got around to the outside of the counter barrier. "Um, I kinda hate t' ask, but could you give me a hand helpin' Sal out front? He's a bit heavy for me to lug over on my own."
Stromm looked at Troy, and then to Sal. "Sure, I could just throw him like I did the other guy if it that works." Stromm said, getting up off of his stool.
"Just a lift-an'-haul will do...but if you mean jus' dumping him by the door, that works for me. The evenin' truck'll be by in a few minutes," Troy said, referring to the truck that went through and stacked the passed-out-or-numb drunks in the back and took them somewhere to sleep it off. Cheaper than cabs, and less trouble than public transportation. The drunks were never in any condition to complain, either, so everyone was happy. "C'mon, down ya go," Troy said, giving Sal a tug and guiding him off his stool and putting his arm over her shoulder, giving Stromm a quick nod to get the man's other arm.
Stromm leaned in and grabbed the man by the waist and threw him over his shoulder. "My squad always got M.P. duty back in basic, this is usually how got the drunk marines out of bars quickly," the sarge almost said proudly as he heaved the man out. "Usually we had a garrison truck waiting to take them back to camp, but I think the steps'll suit'm fine."
Several of the other partrons stared, some less comprehending than others, at the large man dropping the drunk outside like a bail of hay. Some raised their hands in a call for their bills, which made Troy smirk. She swung back around to the business side of the bar and started writing out the bills, handing them out with the speed of a meter maid handing out parking tickets. In less than a minute, there were significantly fewer people in the tavern with only a few die-hards at their tables. Brushing her hands on the tender's apron, Troy finally settled down in front of Stromm again, grabbing her bar towel and wiping down the counter. "Thanks a bunch. I know it's technically bad for business, but gettin' some o' them out before closing can be a hassle some nights," she said with a grin. "Now, then, you were about t' explain this accident event?"
Stromm cleared his throat and gave her a rather inspecting look. "You sure you want to know?"
"I've heard some tales behind cybernetics that'd make skin crawl if everyone didn't have a story in that vein. So try me," she said, looking at him in mock-challenge.
"Fine, I used to live on these very streets when I was a younger man," Stromm said as he began to look off into space. "I made a lot of friends out here, and a lot of deals, I was enforcer, and I was well-known as a guy who didn't take or give shit. I was also known as a man with principles." He took a sip of his water before he continued on.
"It was during the large street war that things began to unravel, our gang was tearing itself apart to join the larger gangs. Being an enforcer, I held the respect of a large amount of people, so I prevented our gang from joining the larger gangs ranks. Someone up high in those ranks looked down on me and saw me as a threat, so they got to me through my friends.
"One night as we were returning from a small raid, the good friends I traveled with turned their bats on me. Beating my jaw into powder, and doing the same to my arm. I laid there for about a night until someone found me and got me to a hospital. A few days later, I had this jaw, and this arm." Stromm pointed to his jaw and then to his uncovered arm.
Troy stared at Strom for a second, trying to figure out if he was joking. Who was she kidding...this was Nepleslia. People dying was a fact of life. Going a week without a broken bone in some cities was seen as a sign of being "soft". But the thought of someone's friends turning on him like Stromm's had still affected her. Friends weren't supposed to do that to each other..."Did you ever find out why?" she asked.
"I kept a large amount of our members loyal; with me out of the picture, those members could be turned to the grubby fingers of the bigger gangs. They put a lot of money in my friend's hands to beat the shit out of me." Stromm grunted, his angry attitude slowly returning to him.
Well, while not reasonable, that was understandable. Troy pulled a jug of juice from the minifridge and poured herself a glass while thinking this over. She glanced over at Stromm's glass of water, then held up the jug while looking at Stromm as if asking if he wanted any.
Stromm nodded.
She emptied whatever remained of his water into a sink and replaced it with the juice. Then she put the jug away and took a drink of her own. "Well, as I said...ev'ryone's got their story," she said, not sounding very enthusiastic about it. But then she sighed and smiled at him. He survived, though, like she had with the cause of her own replacement. "Hey, are you the kinda person who collects cybernetics?" asked Troy, setting her glass down and absently tapping a finger on it.
"Collecting cybernetics?" Stromm arched a brow at the woman, he wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that.
She shrugged. "Some people get hurt so much it seems like they're collecting implants and replacements sometimes. They're sorta rare, but I've seen a couple. And maybe one or two more that were rather open about it. You know, the sort who don't wear skins over 'em." She glanced at his jaw. "This one guy had over fifty-percent of himself done over...looked more like a car than a corpse, ya know?"
"Damn... I do have one piece. My previous jaw, which I lost in the Kennewes Offensive, is in my duffel bag, still has the claw marks in it." Stromm rubbed his jaw softly, and then looked back at her. "Mmm, I'm not fond of it, but it's a stiff reminder that I'm not as invincible as I thought I was."
Troy chuckled to herself at the word "stiff"...both for the fact that metal was quite stiff, and not being invincible usually meant that one ended up as a stiff. "Well, right now, it sounds like you need a distraction. It's kinda late today to start huntin' for anything, much less a hobby, and of course there's my job here to take care of. Whadaya say we meet up tomorrow an' figure this out then, mm?"
"Only if you tell me something." Stromm leaned over on the table, resting his chin on his fist.
"Shoot," Troy said, leaning forward onto the bar.
"Two questions, first, how did you get that eye?" Stromm asked sincerely, in a way so he wouldn't seem to offend her.
Troy's organic eye glanced up and to the side. After her question, of course he'd ask..."Childhood accident. Daddy took me to work when I was six, an' I discovered something the hard way. After watching my father use a corkscrew, I got a hold of one and tried using it. I wasn' strong enough to get it in far enough, so it came loose and next thing I knew I had a patch. Took a few years, but I saved up enough for this." She tapped on the glowing membranous screen that covered the internal workings of the implant. It was a small, flat-surfaced rectangle that fit inside her original socket, with steel trim filling in the difference between the cybernetic and the empty socket. The membrane could be flipped up for maintenance and trade-outs of the lenses, circuits, and sensors inside. "I'm just thankful that they were able to get in there before infection set in, and that Mama knew a good doc to fix me up."
"Mmm... We Nepleslians are very prone to injury..." Stromm said reflectively, "But to my second question. Why are you so interested in finding me something to do?" Stromm asked with a silver grin.
"Nepleslians are a fighting bunch, enough t' warrant our own stereotype," Troy mused, taking a drink as she looked at him, thinking his second question over. "Simple. You're bummed and, usually, a hobby can help ya with that. But your job is your hobby, which is not a good thing anyway, and you're clearly not gonna look for a new hobby. So I'm going to make sure you get one because you're also too nice of a guy to let get all mopey for lack of a hobby."
Stromm arched a brow, mainly in a way of a disbelief. She mentioned hobby a little to many times...
Might'a mentioned hobby a few too many times, thought Troy, still smiling. I think I could have crammed another in, though.
"Alright, we'll go with that." Stromm chuckled, he turned around and looked out at the bar around him. "I guess I should be going, then."
"See ya here tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Have a good one, then!" Troy stopped leaning on the counter and smiled.
Stromm gave her a wave, "You too." the large Nepleslian went to the door and made his exit.
Troy waved at him as he left, then checked on the other patrons and cleaned the bar.
>END>
A large, beast of a man walked down the streets of Funky City. He was quite a sight, his large metal jaw shining in the city's clouded moonlight. More inspection of the man's face would indicate he was feeling very alone and desolate. One could even say he looked desperate, at least at a first glance. However, Stromm Kumorok Dekomir was just walking the streets, broken and distorted. His mother's death had left him an empty husk, as a golem is without a soul. So now, he wondered the streets in a way to find consolation for his own lost soul.
People stayed out of the way of the large Security Sargent by instinct. Most of them didn't look too closely at him, either, but the few who did let him pass with whispers and mutters in his wake. A drunk stumbled out of one of the more run-down taverns in the city (due more to the frequency of the fights there than any lack of money), almost falling down the couple of steps and sloshing the lager in his stein as he tried finding a place where the ground wasn't moving beneath his feet. He missed the last step just as Stromm passed in front of him.
Stromm's stride stopped abruptly as the drunk's clumsiness caused contact to the Sergeant's side. The taller, more solid Stromm was like stone as he seemed to be registering what had just happened. The Sergeant's head rotated on a ball axis as he looked down at the drunk. There was not much of response from him, he just stared vacantly, awaiting a response from the drunkard.
The man's drink sloshed heavily, a large amount arcing through the air to splash to the ground in front of both of them. The man recovered enough to take his weight off of Stromm -- or maybe he just bounced off -- and stared at the brown puddle as the last of the bubbles slowly popped. The remaining amount in the stein slowly drained over the lip of the cup in the man's tilted grip. The drunk finally looked up...and then a little more 'up' until he found where he thought Stromm's eyes were. "Ye OWE an'utter drink to meee, YEAH?" he slurred. "I WASN' FINISH'T with...wit it."
Stromm's eyes lit, his shallow mercy from the drunk just ran dry. So with that, the Sergeant got grip of the man with his organic hand, and then raised his metal fist to the man's face.
"Would you like payment in iron or steel." Stromm spat.
The man just stared at the fist blearily. Meanwhile the tavern door slammed open and another man -- much less drunk than the one in Stromm's grip -- filled the doorway. He was large. It only stood to reason, since the one demanding a return on the drink was a scrawny fella. That meant, of course, that his friend was a bear of a man that would have been impressive in his own right had Stromm been more of a normal build. The newcomer was on the smallish end of being a half-ID-SOL, only a foot below the security officer's height and probably close to him in weight. "Jus' watta ya think you're doin' to him!" bellowed the larger of the two drunks.
Stromm eyed the bigger man, he considered his options as he looked down and up in between the two. He tilted his head, then straightened a little more.
"Playing ball." Stromm said, grabbing the smaller man by the throat with his organic hand, and his groin with his cybernetic. With that, he began to pick up the smaller man and then, using the power in his cybernetic arm, threw the man towards the larger. "Catch!" Stromm growled.
The two collided and ended up a sorry-looking jumble of limbs that blocked the door, but the large one growled and shoved his friend off to one side of the doorway. "I'mna beat yer metal mandible off an' give it to yer mama to use fer dentures!" he said, death in his voice.
"C'mon, let 'em off, he isn't in no mood to fight. Shiv jus' made another fool o' himself, a'right?" A female voice came from further back in the tavern and soon the owner of the voice jogged out after Stromm's pursuer. "Look, I'll get ya both drinks. On the house, 'll that settle it good 'nough for you?" She glanced up at Stromm with one organic eye and one cybernetic eye that glowed a dim shade of blue (similar to the infamous critical error screen of a certain reviled Nepleslian computer system) and an expression that said she would prefer he take her offer.
Stromm made a low growl, something intimidating, but soon found the fire of his growl to extinguish quickly. He didn't know why, but he couldn't help but be interested in the woman's offer. The Sergeant looked down sidewalk, seeing that he had attracted a bit of attention with his throw. He then turned back to the owner, his look anger subsided, the old empty look replacing it. Stromm nodded to the woman and made his way up into the tavern.
"Good." The woman smiled, a little relief in her voice. "An' you?" The second man didn't look happy, but his resistance was about as strong as Stromm's to the woman's offer. He glared at Stromm and headed back inside, picking up his buddy on the way in and carrying the smaller fellow over his shoulder and dumping him into an empty booth. The woman headed inside after them and hopped over the bartop. She grabbed a couple heavy mugs and set them on the bar, glancing over her shoulder at Stromm as she did. "What's your poison?" she asked, trying to sound upbeat.
The tavern was fairly full, but mostly with regulars by the look of them. The bar had nearly all of the stools filled (unless someone counted the empty stools in between the groups of drinking buddies) but many of the tables were occupied by only one or two patrons each. The large guy returned to the bar after dumping his friend off, but didn't take a seat. "A Gordon's Crowbar Lager," he said and took it as soon as she'd poured it, leaving another ill-tempered look at Stromm before rejoining his friend.
Stromm reached into his wallet put twenty DA on the table. "Cheap shit... Stuff that makes you forget." Stromm growled.
The woman's smile dampened a little, but she nodded and got out a dirty-looking bottle, setting it on the bar with a shot-glass...but she also left the mug there. "That's seven DA, so ya got two more bottles comin' if ya like it," she said, pocketing the bill. A glass hit the bartop halfway down the line, and she glanced over before looking back at Stromm. She could tell he was hurting, and his order had just confirmed her guess. "I'll be back in a sec, call if ya want an'thing else, hun," she said, then moved down the line to tend to the empty glass.
Stromm's breaths hummed quietly through his jaw, his drink sat in front of him, becoming warmer with the passing minutes. His eyes drifted off the distance, looking towards the past. He saw himself, along with the entire Dekomir family.
Almost every member of the family was torn into tears that day, even the iron-willed Lamoco the 1st (Stromm's father) was draped over the casket screaming into the sky and crying. The only two who weren't bawling uncontrollably were Stromm and Lamoco the 2nd. The two of them both stood stalwart and side-by-side as they stared at the box holding their dear mother.
Both brothers were the eldest of the family, both felt they had to be strong in the gripping time. It was quite easy for Lamoco II to face this compared to his brother. Stromm had returned from duty after a bloody account in the Kennewes Offensive, and being temporarily put on leave for mental health reasons.
Stromm then jerked in his chair, his organic hand rushing up to his jaw, as if to make sure it was still there. His breathing became uneasy as the shock washed over him, and he then tilted his head downward as if ashamed of his sudden movement. Reliving the fear of his jaw being torn from him hand haunted him since the Kennewes Offensive, and he found himself constantly touch and feeling to see if it was still there.
"So, how's the dri-..." The woman returned after replenishing the local alcohol supply, pausing when she noticed Stromm's glass was still full. "Somethin' wrong?" she asked, concerned.
Stromm looked at the woman out of the corner of his eyes, and then looked away. "I don't drink..." said the large Nepleslian.
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, then dug into her pocket and set the bill back on the counter. "Eh, it was supposed to be on th' house anyways, right?" she said with an attempt at a smile. Then she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. "Seems somethin' else might be th' matter, though, isn't there? Ya gave a start a second ago...mem'ries?" she asked, her voice dropping to a half-whisper on the last word. "It may not be in the contract job description, but y'know I'm here if ya need an ear to listen to y'r problems, righ'?" she added, almost as an afterthought.
Stromm's eyes followed the woman's hands as she put the money back on the table. He looked at her for a moment as she seemed to take interest in his problem. The Sergeant growled, "I don't need a shrink..."
Her organic eye frowned and she straightened up, planting her knuckles on her hips with indignation. "Hey, now, I ain't no psychologist, an' don't dare infer that I am!" she growled. "If that's what ya need, no bar, tavern, or club in town's gonna help ya there. I'm jus' offerin' to hear ya out 'cause it looked like you'd taken a bit o' drama trauma. And if there's one thing I've learned from bein' 'ere FIFTEEN years it's that EVERYONE can use some venting time. Even ya hard-ass military types.
"Oth'wise, if ya ain't gonna drink and ya ain't gonna talk, take a good look in that mirror-" she gestured to the mirror that covered the wall behind her that was spotted with shelves and booze containers with the occasional open spot. "-an ask yourself 'Why'm I in a bar I ain't gonna talk or drink in?' Once ya find your answer, lemme know. Oth'wise, you can go."
"All I see is a broken soldier in that mirror... Someone... Someone who doesn't have a thing in his life, but his own pride..." Stromm said, taking a deeper look in the mirror than he had meant. He turned, and dipped his head. "I saw someone who lost his jaw on these streets to close friends. Someone who lost that jaw again on Kennewes and lives with the waking fear that it may be torn away from him again. Someone who lost his mother to a shitty driver. A man stripped of his duty by... 'Mental Combat Stress Syndrome'..." Stromm growled lowly.
When Stromm finished, the eyebrow over the woman's organic eye lifted. "That's quite a bit to be carryin' around with you..." she said, her hands dropping from her hips and picking up a bar towel just to have something in one of them. "You fought at Kennewes? I had a brother stationed there..." Her voice trailed off and she absently started moving the towel over the countertop. The Kennewes Offensive had been finished for a while now and she'd still had no word from her brother...She looked up at Stromm with a sideways kinda look. "Your mother...how long has it been?" she prodded gently.
"Since the end of the Offensive, I found out that she died at the end of the battle." Stromm looked up at her, meeting the bartender in the eyes.
"Damn..." she whispered, glancing down at the countertop for a moment before looking back at Stromm. "So you musta just come back from the funeral. Hell of a welcome home..." The woman went silent for a little while. "I'm sorry for your loss..." she said finally, putting a hand on his wrist. "Is' ere anything you do drink? I could getcha some o' that..."
Stromm arched a brow, "What do you have?"
"Well...I do have a few syrups and juices that I keep for people who want the occasional mixer...orange, tomato, apple, stuff like that." She glanced under the counter, opening one of the minifridges to check.
"Eh... Nothing, I'm not too thirsty... My stomach won't really accept much these days anyway." Stromm waved to the side.
"Water, then." She got him a glass and filled it, removing the bottle and mug she had put there to begin with.
Stromm's brows lifted a little, he grinned a silvery grin and then gripped the mug. The large Nepleslian sipped from the cup. "So tell me, how many times a day do you get men like me coming through here? You seem to be well-practiced." He chuckled behind his glass.
Either he was a fast recovery or he was trying to distract himself...she lifted a brow too when she saw him smile and chuckle, but the woman decided to play along. "Well, lots o' people come in to have a li'l relaxin' time, but we get our share of people wantin' to drown their sorrows, ya know what I mean?" She put away the bottle of booze and put her palms on the bartop, glancing down the bar to see if there were any empty bottles before looking back at Stromm again. Even with the metal jaw, he wasn't too bad-lookin'...then she mentally stopped herself. No more damaged goods, she thought. "There are enough bars in town for them t' go aroun', but I see 'em from time to time. You're a bit of an exception, I gotta say. Mind if I ask why the alcohol avoidance?"
"My father whipped into my mind that alcohol is a distraction, only a weak man drinks." Stromm grunted, rubbing down his chin with his organic hand. He then raised his glass to his mouth, and then drank from it. "Ironically enough, he was the one who started to drink the night of my mothers death, not me."
"Mm, good advice for th' most part. Mine, well, his gran-da built this tavern from the ground up, so it wasn' much of a matter of drinkin' or not, but knowin' when ta stop. 'Moderation in all things,' that was his motto. Unfortunately, Momma found his weakness for women a bit early, now he can't much enjoy that particular vice of his," she said with a wry smile. "Turns out it doesn't matter what you think you can handle, if you're weak to it you'll overdo it. Kinda like an elemental opposition in one of those interNep RPGs, ya know? Fire is good an' all, but give it somethin' it is weak against like water and you'll do more damage than normal...Dang, blew my cover, didn' I?" she said, her smile shifting to showing a little embarrassment.
Adorable, she still plays video games. thought Stromm. "No problem in private indulgence, keeps life interesting. Despite my raisings, I don't look down on people for their personal enjoyments, just their actions." He said, then continued, "Then again, people still think I'm a hard ass for it.
"That's another weakness, you know, not a natural one, but one you put on yourself. However, I've learned in recent weeks that such a weakness is only as powerful as you make it. If you think Video Games are the weakness to your 'image', then you can either sit and take peoples opinions..." Stromm sipped from the cup and the slammed it on the table. "...Or get in their face and ask them if they have a problem with what you like."
She nodded, but shrugged too. While she still liked the games, the stereotypes that went with it would be detrimental to her street cred. "Yeah...well, what do you like? My brother tells me they kept him busy, but ya still have to have some time to yourself, right?" she asked, trying to turn the subject.
"Never played." Stromm said plainly.
"I meant "do ya 'ave any hobbies", smart-ass," she retorted, smirking.
Hm, kitten has claws. He chuckled mentally. "Wel-... Er... There is... Uh... Well... There is the military." Stromm said searchingly.
The woman shook her head in mock disappointment, but waited to see if he'd find anything before commenting. Plus it was amusing to see him flustered like this...
"What?" Stromm arched a brow.
She looked a little surprised. "So you've made your job your life, then?" she asked, the question genuine instead of joking in the way she said it.
"My father made the military my life, I didn't really know anything else. I woke up and faced my father's hard-ass rituals from dawn to dusk." Stromm grunted, remembering his Peking-style upbringing.
"Hm. Well, what're you gonna do with your leave, then? Bug your superiors to let ya back onto a ship?"
"Probably." Stromm grinned a silver grin.
"How much time ya got planetside?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. He needs somethin' else to do instead o' wastin' his time off...that's all, she thought. Anyone could see that the guy needed some distracting, some sorta hobby...tossin' drunks around taverns wasn't her idea of a hobby. Well...she'd seen a few ID-SOL types take it up and call it one, but it wasn't on her list officially.
"Until the Doctor says I'm fit for combat again." said Stromm, annoyed.
"An' what does he consider 'fit for combat'?" she inquired.
"If I knew, I'd already be back on Kennewes. So, apparently, I've got a long while." Stromm grunted.
"So you might as well have some fun and relax, if it's bein' forced on you," she mused. "An' since you're clearly not going to be able to enjoy your current hobby, we're gonna just have to find you a new one," she finished, planting her palms on the bartop and smiling at him with a look that said he would have a hard time arguing his way out of this one short of just walking out the door then and there...question was, would he? After all, he _did_ have the time...and, even with a rather distracting blue screen over her missing eye, the woman wasn't hard on the eyes. But somehow he would get the feeling she wasn't talking about that good-ol'-Nepleslian-sort of fun.
"We're?" Stromm arched a brow at the woman who seemed to be taking a deep interest in him. Normally, Stromm was never this social, neither would he had let that 'we're' get off so easily. For some reason, though, he felt it was just right to talk to her. Despite the compromise in his social security which he had built over the years, it felt good to actually socialize. It was a nice discovery, strange that it was brought on by his mother's death. "Well, before 'we' do 'anything', I've got to know your name." Stromm said, planting his metal chin on his metal fist.
"Troya." She offered her hand to Stromm. "Everyone calls me 'Troy', though. Parents wanted a boy, got me instead, so Mama just added a letter an' they called it good," she said with a smile. "An' what might you answer to?"
"Troya..." Stromm seemed to play with it in his mind for a moment before he decided to respond. "I am Stromm Kumorok Dekomir, my father wanted a manly name for his boy, so he thought of the toughest name he could."
"Don't tell me he was the one who got ya th' metal jaw instead of a synthetic," Troy said with a short laugh. "If strength, discipline, an' plain intimidation are any measure, I'd think you were more 'manly' than most of the guys in here...but don' tell them I said that," she added in a half-whisper.
Stromm chuckled at Troya, a little amused by her joke. "That means a lot, thank you." Stromm said, rubbing his metal handiwork of a chin. "The Chin was more of an accident than anything, really."
Thunk, thunk. An empty bottle hit the bar top a few stools down the line, earning a faintly annoyed glance from Troy that quickly vanished. Just when it was gettin' good! Well, at least she knew Stromm wasn't going to get up and walk out now..."Uh...one moment. I'mna ask what that accident was when I get back, though," she said, giving a smile to the Sergeant before grabbing another bottle and heading over toward the refill 'request'. "Wait, you've had enough for t'night," she said to the drunk, getting a look at him when she got closer. "C'mon, we need ta get you a ride home now. Tha's right..." Jogging by Stromm again, Troy paused when she got around to the outside of the counter barrier. "Um, I kinda hate t' ask, but could you give me a hand helpin' Sal out front? He's a bit heavy for me to lug over on my own."
Stromm looked at Troy, and then to Sal. "Sure, I could just throw him like I did the other guy if it that works." Stromm said, getting up off of his stool.
"Just a lift-an'-haul will do...but if you mean jus' dumping him by the door, that works for me. The evenin' truck'll be by in a few minutes," Troy said, referring to the truck that went through and stacked the passed-out-or-numb drunks in the back and took them somewhere to sleep it off. Cheaper than cabs, and less trouble than public transportation. The drunks were never in any condition to complain, either, so everyone was happy. "C'mon, down ya go," Troy said, giving Sal a tug and guiding him off his stool and putting his arm over her shoulder, giving Stromm a quick nod to get the man's other arm.
Stromm leaned in and grabbed the man by the waist and threw him over his shoulder. "My squad always got M.P. duty back in basic, this is usually how got the drunk marines out of bars quickly," the sarge almost said proudly as he heaved the man out. "Usually we had a garrison truck waiting to take them back to camp, but I think the steps'll suit'm fine."
Several of the other partrons stared, some less comprehending than others, at the large man dropping the drunk outside like a bail of hay. Some raised their hands in a call for their bills, which made Troy smirk. She swung back around to the business side of the bar and started writing out the bills, handing them out with the speed of a meter maid handing out parking tickets. In less than a minute, there were significantly fewer people in the tavern with only a few die-hards at their tables. Brushing her hands on the tender's apron, Troy finally settled down in front of Stromm again, grabbing her bar towel and wiping down the counter. "Thanks a bunch. I know it's technically bad for business, but gettin' some o' them out before closing can be a hassle some nights," she said with a grin. "Now, then, you were about t' explain this accident event?"
Stromm cleared his throat and gave her a rather inspecting look. "You sure you want to know?"
"I've heard some tales behind cybernetics that'd make skin crawl if everyone didn't have a story in that vein. So try me," she said, looking at him in mock-challenge.
"Fine, I used to live on these very streets when I was a younger man," Stromm said as he began to look off into space. "I made a lot of friends out here, and a lot of deals, I was enforcer, and I was well-known as a guy who didn't take or give shit. I was also known as a man with principles." He took a sip of his water before he continued on.
"It was during the large street war that things began to unravel, our gang was tearing itself apart to join the larger gangs. Being an enforcer, I held the respect of a large amount of people, so I prevented our gang from joining the larger gangs ranks. Someone up high in those ranks looked down on me and saw me as a threat, so they got to me through my friends.
"One night as we were returning from a small raid, the good friends I traveled with turned their bats on me. Beating my jaw into powder, and doing the same to my arm. I laid there for about a night until someone found me and got me to a hospital. A few days later, I had this jaw, and this arm." Stromm pointed to his jaw and then to his uncovered arm.
Troy stared at Strom for a second, trying to figure out if he was joking. Who was she kidding...this was Nepleslia. People dying was a fact of life. Going a week without a broken bone in some cities was seen as a sign of being "soft". But the thought of someone's friends turning on him like Stromm's had still affected her. Friends weren't supposed to do that to each other..."Did you ever find out why?" she asked.
"I kept a large amount of our members loyal; with me out of the picture, those members could be turned to the grubby fingers of the bigger gangs. They put a lot of money in my friend's hands to beat the shit out of me." Stromm grunted, his angry attitude slowly returning to him.
Well, while not reasonable, that was understandable. Troy pulled a jug of juice from the minifridge and poured herself a glass while thinking this over. She glanced over at Stromm's glass of water, then held up the jug while looking at Stromm as if asking if he wanted any.
Stromm nodded.
She emptied whatever remained of his water into a sink and replaced it with the juice. Then she put the jug away and took a drink of her own. "Well, as I said...ev'ryone's got their story," she said, not sounding very enthusiastic about it. But then she sighed and smiled at him. He survived, though, like she had with the cause of her own replacement. "Hey, are you the kinda person who collects cybernetics?" asked Troy, setting her glass down and absently tapping a finger on it.
"Collecting cybernetics?" Stromm arched a brow at the woman, he wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that.
She shrugged. "Some people get hurt so much it seems like they're collecting implants and replacements sometimes. They're sorta rare, but I've seen a couple. And maybe one or two more that were rather open about it. You know, the sort who don't wear skins over 'em." She glanced at his jaw. "This one guy had over fifty-percent of himself done over...looked more like a car than a corpse, ya know?"
"Damn... I do have one piece. My previous jaw, which I lost in the Kennewes Offensive, is in my duffel bag, still has the claw marks in it." Stromm rubbed his jaw softly, and then looked back at her. "Mmm, I'm not fond of it, but it's a stiff reminder that I'm not as invincible as I thought I was."
Troy chuckled to herself at the word "stiff"...both for the fact that metal was quite stiff, and not being invincible usually meant that one ended up as a stiff. "Well, right now, it sounds like you need a distraction. It's kinda late today to start huntin' for anything, much less a hobby, and of course there's my job here to take care of. Whadaya say we meet up tomorrow an' figure this out then, mm?"
"Only if you tell me something." Stromm leaned over on the table, resting his chin on his fist.
"Shoot," Troy said, leaning forward onto the bar.
"Two questions, first, how did you get that eye?" Stromm asked sincerely, in a way so he wouldn't seem to offend her.
Troy's organic eye glanced up and to the side. After her question, of course he'd ask..."Childhood accident. Daddy took me to work when I was six, an' I discovered something the hard way. After watching my father use a corkscrew, I got a hold of one and tried using it. I wasn' strong enough to get it in far enough, so it came loose and next thing I knew I had a patch. Took a few years, but I saved up enough for this." She tapped on the glowing membranous screen that covered the internal workings of the implant. It was a small, flat-surfaced rectangle that fit inside her original socket, with steel trim filling in the difference between the cybernetic and the empty socket. The membrane could be flipped up for maintenance and trade-outs of the lenses, circuits, and sensors inside. "I'm just thankful that they were able to get in there before infection set in, and that Mama knew a good doc to fix me up."
"Mmm... We Nepleslians are very prone to injury..." Stromm said reflectively, "But to my second question. Why are you so interested in finding me something to do?" Stromm asked with a silver grin.
"Nepleslians are a fighting bunch, enough t' warrant our own stereotype," Troy mused, taking a drink as she looked at him, thinking his second question over. "Simple. You're bummed and, usually, a hobby can help ya with that. But your job is your hobby, which is not a good thing anyway, and you're clearly not gonna look for a new hobby. So I'm going to make sure you get one because you're also too nice of a guy to let get all mopey for lack of a hobby."
Stromm arched a brow, mainly in a way of a disbelief. She mentioned hobby a little to many times...
Might'a mentioned hobby a few too many times, thought Troy, still smiling. I think I could have crammed another in, though.
"Alright, we'll go with that." Stromm chuckled, he turned around and looked out at the bar around him. "I guess I should be going, then."
"See ya here tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Have a good one, then!" Troy stopped leaning on the counter and smiled.
Stromm gave her a wave, "You too." the large Nepleslian went to the door and made his exit.
Troy waved at him as he left, then checked on the other patrons and cleaned the bar.
>END>
