Several miles south of Prime City, the largest collection of Nepleslian cities on Nepleslia Prime, secluded by tree to all but the sun, was Westwood Manor. The building of the medium sized house for the wealthy premier was done rather quickly, as judged by the rather military style of the dwellings. It was very out of the way, in fact, on a road that was specifically paved to reach it from the main highway stretching down into the country-side. It was a nice, serene area, and the walled lawn of the home, which was about the size of two foot-ball fields, was surrounded well by a fifteen foot wall to keep out any snoops. The owner of this out-of-the-way place, was none other than the recently elected Pyros Thrull Westwood, Premier of Nepleslia.
Out in the front, there was a small circle area for cars to drop people off and drive right on out of the property. The front gate was simply a large door with flag of Nepleslia imprinted on each door. Flanking it's sides were two ID-SOL soldiers, armed with IAWs, part of an all-day watch for any potential trouble-making entities. Their barracks were half a mile down the road where they switched shifts at certain times throughout the day. Today, though, they seemed especially on guard, watchful of the road.
Three cars pulled down the road at a leisurely pace. The first two were obviously in convoy, the lead one a jeep with several troops serving as an escort for the sleek state limousine carrying Grand Admiral Vladimirus Corcyra. About two miles behind them was a smaller, dark black towncar with the Intelligence Pacification Group insignia lightly stenciled on the driver and passenger doors. The Admiral's escort pulled off the road, the driver smiling and waving to the ID-SOL guards as the limo pulled through the gate and stopped at the head of the circle. The driver, a Navy Junior Officer, got out of the driver's seat to open the door for his CO.
The preceding months had not been kind to the 2nd Assault Fleet's commanding officer. His usual tan and good cheer had diminished somewhat with the loss of his homeworld and the tides of war, but he still kept the determined demeanor and energy of a senior officer. He stretched his back slightly and waited for direction to his boss, the venerable Sky Marshall Westwood.
Behind his transport, the IPG's car pulled lightly to a stop, and out of the backseat stepped Commander Marcellus Mercir. The IPG's envoy saluted the Grand Admiral, and stood at attention in his typical mechanical manner, waiting for their host.
The two ID-SOLs at the front gate saluted, before one of them turned to the large gate and pressed the call button next to the door.
"Mr. Evergreen, the Naval and IPG Convoy has arrived." reported the man, looking back towards the motorcade for a moment.
"Splendid! I will retrieve them." reported a rather pompous sounding voice on the other end. With that, the security soldier turned back to face the high-ranking array of individuals, tensing a bit as he looked upon the Grand Admiral and the IPG Commander. A few uncomfortable followed before the large doors to the front gate opened to reveal a tall, well-groomed man. He was wearing a formal looking tux, with .45 Zen Arms strapped to his side. He grinned under his curly moustache, and bowed to the visiting group.
"Welcome to Westwood Manor. I am Sherman Ev--..."
Krak! went the audible sound of an HHG in the distance. Not even losing a beat, Sherman contined.
"-ergreen! I am the Head Butler, and our Premier's personal aide." finished the butler, nodding his head again before pulling out a small pocket-watch which seemed to be of very ornate design. "The Premier is currently engaged in his afternoon shooting, shall I take you to see him?"
Corcyra smiled cordially at the butler. "If it's of no inconvience, please do. We're on something of a time crunch." Mercir simply nodded, saying nothing.
"Ah, then I will be quick! Please leave all personnel at the door save for one trusted compatriot. I am required to inform you that all our maids are armed with Styrling Silver Specials, and our butlers with .45 Zen arms such as myself. So. Please pick your compatriots, and I will escort you!" said Sherman, spinning on his heel to walk back into the front yard, on a small stone path lined by bushes. Inside there was a clear view of the rather humble looking manor. It was two stories, with a nice sturdy structure in a design that Prime City was well known for. The front yard was decorated with a lovely fountain, flanked by two anti-aircraft guns, one of which was being polished by a maid in what seemed to be a green, french maid outfit.
Corcyra smiled once more, and motioned for the Junior Officer who had driven him to the manor, who quickly bounded towards the officers and after the butler. Mercir simply followed them, leaving the driver of his towncar to wait in the vehicle.
Sherman led the small group around the back, where a maid hastily went by with empty tray, another gunshot ringing out from the back yard. As they rounded the corner, silently side-stepping one or two of the butlers gardening some of the landscaped areas around the house, they saw a beautiful back-yard combination. Pyros' had what seemed to be a mixture of a wondrous garden, and a firing range whipped in together. Seperate from that, but still apart of the gardens was small area seemingly dedicated to the playing of sports, and other fine outdoor activities. Right next to the garden was the most grand of it all, almost a kitchen outside. A massive grill, a smoker that seemed to be a quarter size of the house itself, a fridge that connected to the side of the house, which appeared to be the fridge for the inside as well, and small outdoor bar, complimented with copious amounts of alcohol shaded by a thin roof.
Pyros himself, stood there, shirtless, HHG pointed down the firing range in one hand. A cigar was poking out of the edge of his mouth, and a recently crunched beer can was in the other. His fatigues were slightly ruffled and stained, belted by a holster for one HHG and a Nk-lr on the other. His boots, however, were amazingly shiny, likely by the small midget-sized butler who had just finished buffing them and was walking off for his next duty. Flanked on Pyros' right, was another maid, hands on a cart with several weapons arrayed on it.
Krakoom! went the sound of an HHG breaking what once was a very nice looking vase. The rather buff, old man laughed at that, raising the weapon in the air, sweat glistening off the unusually young looking frame.
"Ha-ha! Priceless work of art, my ass!" howled the Premier in laughter, before holstering the gun, "Hand me that RPB, I'm going to kill that table, too." The Maid nodded, before taking notice of Sherman and the high-ranking officers.
"Ah, sir! I hate to interupt, but your old friend is here, along with the IPG Commander." said Sherman.
"Yeah yeah," Pyros waved a hand, back still to them "Let'm in, I'll put a shirt on later."
Corcyra grinned as he approached the firing range. "Still not hurting for decorum, I see, Westwood. And your aim still sucks." The Grand Admiral strode forward, and held out his hand for a shake. "Never got the chance to congratulate you on your election."
Mercir stood rapidly at attention about twenty feet away, and gave a stiff salute. "An honor to be in your presence, Sky Marshall."
"Vlad? Hey! Vlad!" said Pyros, turning around, his wispy, untamed gray hair twisting rather lately, as did the spike of a goatee on his chin. The Sky Marshall whipped his hand forward and shook the Grand Admiral's hand tightly. "Yeah, what with all that's happened, being the big, bad Sky Marshall just isn't as popular as it was. Though, I'm pretty sure it was Davis who made it all work. Still," His glowing red eyes looked over at Mercir, before regarding Corcyra again, "How are you, Vlad? I haven't seen you since Kennewes."
Vlad finished the shake and withdrew his hand. "I've been better. Loss of Rok'Veru hit my logistics hard, and a lot of my boys are too damn cagey for their own good. Other than that, things are going well. We've replaced most of what we lost in the battle, men and all." The Admiral looked out at the ruins of whatever objects had been unlucky enough to draw Pyros' ire enough to be thrown on the firing range and smiled widely. "But hey, at least I only need to go shoot some damn squids. You have to talk to the damn voters."
"I just do my shitty job. You're the one that gets to have all the fun!" said Westwood, gruffly kicking the cart with his heel and shooing the maid away, to which she responded by rolling off towards a small building marked as the armory. "I need to come out here and shoot shit just to work off the edge." The Premier motioned Vlad to follow as he walked over to small table set out on the green, shaded by a large umbrella. "Hell, I was actually a little glad the NMX popped up in Nepleslia. You know, not for killing everyone, but givng me something to do. Those little worms came squiggling up out of the gutters, and I gave them a reason to squiggle on back. Never thought it would be the reason why I'd end up as Premier."
Pyros took a seat, "Did you know that Nepleslia prefers symbolism over functionality? The voters didn't care that Davis was an excellent politician, they cared about the fact that he was a hero. People listen to folks they admire, and there was just about no one who wouldn't listen to that man. Now? I'm in that position, not nearly as admired, but seated with just as much shit. At any rate," He looked around, as if trying to find someone, "I don't necessarily love the job, but with all the benefits, I can't hate either, and besides!" His red, glowing eyes came back on the Grand Admiral, "I don't have to salute you anymore."
Corcyra grinned. "No, I suppose you don't. Regardless, don't worry about this 'hero' stuff. You've got plenty of time in the next couple months to show people you've got balls, too. And you fucking better do it, because you fuck up I have to do the paper work. And, you know, get eaten by squid monsters." The officer took a chair next to the Sky Marshall. "Anyway, how about we talk about why we're here, and then we'll see if I can't still outshoot your ancient ass?"
"Always the cocky one, babyface, that's I why I like you." chuckled Pyros, before turning his gaze over to Mercir, "Hey, boy. Come and sit, I think you're up her for this Abwehran business, too, right?"
Mercir nodded. "Yes Sky Marhall." The Commander quickly walked over and took a seat, sitting stock straight, as per usual. "Admiral Veles sent me as his liaison. I will be helping coordinate the IPG group joining the expedition."
"Right, right, and Vlad here is for the 2nd fleet, supporting the assault aspects." added Pyros, gesturing a hand to the cocksure Corcyra. The maid with the tray came sauntering back over with a beer on the little platter she carried. "Ah, thank you." said the Premier, picking up the beer and popping the cap. "You both want to work in coordination, along with the other supporting nations, to the assist the UOC? Did I read that right on the form?" He took a sip.
Corcyra shrugged. "Yeah, guess that's the job we signed up for. Would feel pretty good to piss off some of those Mishhu, maybe smoke a few as well. Not to mention, the less civilians those bastards have to play with, the better."
Mercir simply nodded. "The IPG will always serve Nepleslia's best interests, even when they bring us abroad."
"Well, I've got no issue with that. What about prospective planets, what are we aiming ot operate on?" asked Pyros, looking at the two men over the cold beer.
Corcyra drew a datapad from his uniform, and clicked it on. "I was thinking of centering our initial efforts on Jiyuu, the capital. Probably has the most people, and the tightest security. We get in, get out with some folks, and I'd say that's pretty good. We'll have to talk to the other powers before we really get a good picture of what we're dealing with, though."
Mercir closed his eyes for a second before speaking. "The IPG will be providing electronic countermeasures and support for our vessels. In addition, we will try and destroy anything the Mishhu can use to further their war effort. Also, with your blessing, there are several Operator units that would like to be left on the worlds to fight on once we've left the region. They are eager to give the enemy recompense for Rok'Veru."
"Hrm. I see what you mean here. I'll leave the major decision to you, Vlad, you've got a straight head on your shoulders about what is and isn't too much for your ships. Just try not to get stuck on a shit stain part of the operation. We're representing Nepleslia to all of these other nations." ordered Pyros, before turning his attention Mercir. The Premier tapped his cybernetic fingers on the table. "I don't like wasting our trained Operators on acts of revenge, Commander. If those units want to give it to the Mishhu, then they'll hand it to them when we move to retake Rok'Veru."
Mercir nodded. "Understood, Sky Marshall." The IPG man stood. "Will there be anything else? Admiral Veles has requested I join the fleet in the operation, and I must prepare."
"Dismissed, Commander. Good hunting." said Premier, before the maid with the tray arrived again with another beer. Pyros snatched it off, and threw it at the exiting man, "One for the road, spook. You're going to need it."
Mercir caught the drink, and something about as close to a smile as he ever got played at his lips as he saluted. "Thank you, Sky Marshall. It has been an honor." The commander turned and strode away towards the gate and his car.
Corcyra watched the spook go before speaking again. "Alright then, my boys are pretty much ready to kick some ass. But, one question, where are dropping all these refugees off?"
"I'm sure they'll discuss that at the conference, but if anything, we'll bring them here should they want it. Nepleslia accepts everyone with open arms, these days. Well. As long as they have arms, we accept them, that is. Still. There will likely be a designated drop-off area where we'll sign them all off. From there? It's their decision. They want to be green? Bring'm home, otherwise, get back to whatever it is you do when you're not bossing shit around." explained Pyros as set his half-way finished beer onto the table.
Corcyra grinned. "You got it, boss. I've got some time to kill before I need to get back to the ship, so about you not being able to hit the broadside of a Sewer Rat?" The Grand Admiral motioned to the firing range.
"Last time I checked, Baby-face, you were the one with too stiff an arm to hit anything that tilted in the breeze." chuckled the Premier, before standing up from his chair and clapping his hands. "Hey! Guns!" He called out, apprently to a Maid who was just stepping out of the armory. She huffed and turned to go back in, apparently to array the guns she had just stored. "There's something special about having a firing range, in a place like this, with guns delivered on a trolley, loaded, cleaned, and primed to shoot by a woman in the maid's uniform. Don't you think so? Oh wait." Pyros began to chuckly haughtily, "You don't have one of those."
The Grand Admiral laughed. "Yeah, fuck you, too, sir. Some of us actually have to go out and work instead of playing with toys all day. Grab me a Zen .45, would you?"
With the sound of a rushing trolley-cart bumping over a stone path, Pyros made his way over to firing range. The maid, somewhat flustered at her quickened-pace settled herself at her original position, locking the wheels of her cart in place, and then setting her hands in front of her.
"Zen Arms, .45 caliber." went the Premier holding out his hand, and instantly the woman picked up the weapon, checked it's sighting down the range, slapped a magazine into the grip, pulled back the reciever, and presented the shiny gun to him. Pyros grabbed the weapon tossed it under-handed to the Grand Admiral, "You're up, baby-face." Said Pyros, pointing down range to a set of five vases, lined up on a table, with the ruins of another vase right next to them.
Vlad grabbed the gun out of the air, and sighted the hefty pistol at the vases. "Thank you, sir."
Out in the front, there was a small circle area for cars to drop people off and drive right on out of the property. The front gate was simply a large door with flag of Nepleslia imprinted on each door. Flanking it's sides were two ID-SOL soldiers, armed with IAWs, part of an all-day watch for any potential trouble-making entities. Their barracks were half a mile down the road where they switched shifts at certain times throughout the day. Today, though, they seemed especially on guard, watchful of the road.
Three cars pulled down the road at a leisurely pace. The first two were obviously in convoy, the lead one a jeep with several troops serving as an escort for the sleek state limousine carrying Grand Admiral Vladimirus Corcyra. About two miles behind them was a smaller, dark black towncar with the Intelligence Pacification Group insignia lightly stenciled on the driver and passenger doors. The Admiral's escort pulled off the road, the driver smiling and waving to the ID-SOL guards as the limo pulled through the gate and stopped at the head of the circle. The driver, a Navy Junior Officer, got out of the driver's seat to open the door for his CO.
The preceding months had not been kind to the 2nd Assault Fleet's commanding officer. His usual tan and good cheer had diminished somewhat with the loss of his homeworld and the tides of war, but he still kept the determined demeanor and energy of a senior officer. He stretched his back slightly and waited for direction to his boss, the venerable Sky Marshall Westwood.
Behind his transport, the IPG's car pulled lightly to a stop, and out of the backseat stepped Commander Marcellus Mercir. The IPG's envoy saluted the Grand Admiral, and stood at attention in his typical mechanical manner, waiting for their host.
The two ID-SOLs at the front gate saluted, before one of them turned to the large gate and pressed the call button next to the door.
"Mr. Evergreen, the Naval and IPG Convoy has arrived." reported the man, looking back towards the motorcade for a moment.
"Splendid! I will retrieve them." reported a rather pompous sounding voice on the other end. With that, the security soldier turned back to face the high-ranking array of individuals, tensing a bit as he looked upon the Grand Admiral and the IPG Commander. A few uncomfortable followed before the large doors to the front gate opened to reveal a tall, well-groomed man. He was wearing a formal looking tux, with .45 Zen Arms strapped to his side. He grinned under his curly moustache, and bowed to the visiting group.
"Welcome to Westwood Manor. I am Sherman Ev--..."
Krak! went the audible sound of an HHG in the distance. Not even losing a beat, Sherman contined.
"-ergreen! I am the Head Butler, and our Premier's personal aide." finished the butler, nodding his head again before pulling out a small pocket-watch which seemed to be of very ornate design. "The Premier is currently engaged in his afternoon shooting, shall I take you to see him?"
Corcyra smiled cordially at the butler. "If it's of no inconvience, please do. We're on something of a time crunch." Mercir simply nodded, saying nothing.
"Ah, then I will be quick! Please leave all personnel at the door save for one trusted compatriot. I am required to inform you that all our maids are armed with Styrling Silver Specials, and our butlers with .45 Zen arms such as myself. So. Please pick your compatriots, and I will escort you!" said Sherman, spinning on his heel to walk back into the front yard, on a small stone path lined by bushes. Inside there was a clear view of the rather humble looking manor. It was two stories, with a nice sturdy structure in a design that Prime City was well known for. The front yard was decorated with a lovely fountain, flanked by two anti-aircraft guns, one of which was being polished by a maid in what seemed to be a green, french maid outfit.
Corcyra smiled once more, and motioned for the Junior Officer who had driven him to the manor, who quickly bounded towards the officers and after the butler. Mercir simply followed them, leaving the driver of his towncar to wait in the vehicle.
Sherman led the small group around the back, where a maid hastily went by with empty tray, another gunshot ringing out from the back yard. As they rounded the corner, silently side-stepping one or two of the butlers gardening some of the landscaped areas around the house, they saw a beautiful back-yard combination. Pyros' had what seemed to be a mixture of a wondrous garden, and a firing range whipped in together. Seperate from that, but still apart of the gardens was small area seemingly dedicated to the playing of sports, and other fine outdoor activities. Right next to the garden was the most grand of it all, almost a kitchen outside. A massive grill, a smoker that seemed to be a quarter size of the house itself, a fridge that connected to the side of the house, which appeared to be the fridge for the inside as well, and small outdoor bar, complimented with copious amounts of alcohol shaded by a thin roof.
Pyros himself, stood there, shirtless, HHG pointed down the firing range in one hand. A cigar was poking out of the edge of his mouth, and a recently crunched beer can was in the other. His fatigues were slightly ruffled and stained, belted by a holster for one HHG and a Nk-lr on the other. His boots, however, were amazingly shiny, likely by the small midget-sized butler who had just finished buffing them and was walking off for his next duty. Flanked on Pyros' right, was another maid, hands on a cart with several weapons arrayed on it.
Krakoom! went the sound of an HHG breaking what once was a very nice looking vase. The rather buff, old man laughed at that, raising the weapon in the air, sweat glistening off the unusually young looking frame.
"Ha-ha! Priceless work of art, my ass!" howled the Premier in laughter, before holstering the gun, "Hand me that RPB, I'm going to kill that table, too." The Maid nodded, before taking notice of Sherman and the high-ranking officers.
"Ah, sir! I hate to interupt, but your old friend is here, along with the IPG Commander." said Sherman.
"Yeah yeah," Pyros waved a hand, back still to them "Let'm in, I'll put a shirt on later."
Corcyra grinned as he approached the firing range. "Still not hurting for decorum, I see, Westwood. And your aim still sucks." The Grand Admiral strode forward, and held out his hand for a shake. "Never got the chance to congratulate you on your election."
Mercir stood rapidly at attention about twenty feet away, and gave a stiff salute. "An honor to be in your presence, Sky Marshall."
"Vlad? Hey! Vlad!" said Pyros, turning around, his wispy, untamed gray hair twisting rather lately, as did the spike of a goatee on his chin. The Sky Marshall whipped his hand forward and shook the Grand Admiral's hand tightly. "Yeah, what with all that's happened, being the big, bad Sky Marshall just isn't as popular as it was. Though, I'm pretty sure it was Davis who made it all work. Still," His glowing red eyes looked over at Mercir, before regarding Corcyra again, "How are you, Vlad? I haven't seen you since Kennewes."
Vlad finished the shake and withdrew his hand. "I've been better. Loss of Rok'Veru hit my logistics hard, and a lot of my boys are too damn cagey for their own good. Other than that, things are going well. We've replaced most of what we lost in the battle, men and all." The Admiral looked out at the ruins of whatever objects had been unlucky enough to draw Pyros' ire enough to be thrown on the firing range and smiled widely. "But hey, at least I only need to go shoot some damn squids. You have to talk to the damn voters."
"I just do my shitty job. You're the one that gets to have all the fun!" said Westwood, gruffly kicking the cart with his heel and shooing the maid away, to which she responded by rolling off towards a small building marked as the armory. "I need to come out here and shoot shit just to work off the edge." The Premier motioned Vlad to follow as he walked over to small table set out on the green, shaded by a large umbrella. "Hell, I was actually a little glad the NMX popped up in Nepleslia. You know, not for killing everyone, but givng me something to do. Those little worms came squiggling up out of the gutters, and I gave them a reason to squiggle on back. Never thought it would be the reason why I'd end up as Premier."
Pyros took a seat, "Did you know that Nepleslia prefers symbolism over functionality? The voters didn't care that Davis was an excellent politician, they cared about the fact that he was a hero. People listen to folks they admire, and there was just about no one who wouldn't listen to that man. Now? I'm in that position, not nearly as admired, but seated with just as much shit. At any rate," He looked around, as if trying to find someone, "I don't necessarily love the job, but with all the benefits, I can't hate either, and besides!" His red, glowing eyes came back on the Grand Admiral, "I don't have to salute you anymore."
Corcyra grinned. "No, I suppose you don't. Regardless, don't worry about this 'hero' stuff. You've got plenty of time in the next couple months to show people you've got balls, too. And you fucking better do it, because you fuck up I have to do the paper work. And, you know, get eaten by squid monsters." The officer took a chair next to the Sky Marshall. "Anyway, how about we talk about why we're here, and then we'll see if I can't still outshoot your ancient ass?"
"Always the cocky one, babyface, that's I why I like you." chuckled Pyros, before turning his gaze over to Mercir, "Hey, boy. Come and sit, I think you're up her for this Abwehran business, too, right?"
Mercir nodded. "Yes Sky Marhall." The Commander quickly walked over and took a seat, sitting stock straight, as per usual. "Admiral Veles sent me as his liaison. I will be helping coordinate the IPG group joining the expedition."
"Right, right, and Vlad here is for the 2nd fleet, supporting the assault aspects." added Pyros, gesturing a hand to the cocksure Corcyra. The maid with the tray came sauntering back over with a beer on the little platter she carried. "Ah, thank you." said the Premier, picking up the beer and popping the cap. "You both want to work in coordination, along with the other supporting nations, to the assist the UOC? Did I read that right on the form?" He took a sip.
Corcyra shrugged. "Yeah, guess that's the job we signed up for. Would feel pretty good to piss off some of those Mishhu, maybe smoke a few as well. Not to mention, the less civilians those bastards have to play with, the better."
Mercir simply nodded. "The IPG will always serve Nepleslia's best interests, even when they bring us abroad."
"Well, I've got no issue with that. What about prospective planets, what are we aiming ot operate on?" asked Pyros, looking at the two men over the cold beer.
Corcyra drew a datapad from his uniform, and clicked it on. "I was thinking of centering our initial efforts on Jiyuu, the capital. Probably has the most people, and the tightest security. We get in, get out with some folks, and I'd say that's pretty good. We'll have to talk to the other powers before we really get a good picture of what we're dealing with, though."
Mercir closed his eyes for a second before speaking. "The IPG will be providing electronic countermeasures and support for our vessels. In addition, we will try and destroy anything the Mishhu can use to further their war effort. Also, with your blessing, there are several Operator units that would like to be left on the worlds to fight on once we've left the region. They are eager to give the enemy recompense for Rok'Veru."
"Hrm. I see what you mean here. I'll leave the major decision to you, Vlad, you've got a straight head on your shoulders about what is and isn't too much for your ships. Just try not to get stuck on a shit stain part of the operation. We're representing Nepleslia to all of these other nations." ordered Pyros, before turning his attention Mercir. The Premier tapped his cybernetic fingers on the table. "I don't like wasting our trained Operators on acts of revenge, Commander. If those units want to give it to the Mishhu, then they'll hand it to them when we move to retake Rok'Veru."
Mercir nodded. "Understood, Sky Marshall." The IPG man stood. "Will there be anything else? Admiral Veles has requested I join the fleet in the operation, and I must prepare."
"Dismissed, Commander. Good hunting." said Premier, before the maid with the tray arrived again with another beer. Pyros snatched it off, and threw it at the exiting man, "One for the road, spook. You're going to need it."
Mercir caught the drink, and something about as close to a smile as he ever got played at his lips as he saluted. "Thank you, Sky Marshall. It has been an honor." The commander turned and strode away towards the gate and his car.
Corcyra watched the spook go before speaking again. "Alright then, my boys are pretty much ready to kick some ass. But, one question, where are dropping all these refugees off?"
"I'm sure they'll discuss that at the conference, but if anything, we'll bring them here should they want it. Nepleslia accepts everyone with open arms, these days. Well. As long as they have arms, we accept them, that is. Still. There will likely be a designated drop-off area where we'll sign them all off. From there? It's their decision. They want to be green? Bring'm home, otherwise, get back to whatever it is you do when you're not bossing shit around." explained Pyros as set his half-way finished beer onto the table.
Corcyra grinned. "You got it, boss. I've got some time to kill before I need to get back to the ship, so about you not being able to hit the broadside of a Sewer Rat?" The Grand Admiral motioned to the firing range.
"Last time I checked, Baby-face, you were the one with too stiff an arm to hit anything that tilted in the breeze." chuckled the Premier, before standing up from his chair and clapping his hands. "Hey! Guns!" He called out, apprently to a Maid who was just stepping out of the armory. She huffed and turned to go back in, apparently to array the guns she had just stored. "There's something special about having a firing range, in a place like this, with guns delivered on a trolley, loaded, cleaned, and primed to shoot by a woman in the maid's uniform. Don't you think so? Oh wait." Pyros began to chuckly haughtily, "You don't have one of those."
The Grand Admiral laughed. "Yeah, fuck you, too, sir. Some of us actually have to go out and work instead of playing with toys all day. Grab me a Zen .45, would you?"
With the sound of a rushing trolley-cart bumping over a stone path, Pyros made his way over to firing range. The maid, somewhat flustered at her quickened-pace settled herself at her original position, locking the wheels of her cart in place, and then setting her hands in front of her.
"Zen Arms, .45 caliber." went the Premier holding out his hand, and instantly the woman picked up the weapon, checked it's sighting down the range, slapped a magazine into the grip, pulled back the reciever, and presented the shiny gun to him. Pyros grabbed the weapon tossed it under-handed to the Grand Admiral, "You're up, baby-face." Said Pyros, pointing down range to a set of five vases, lined up on a table, with the ruins of another vase right next to them.
Vlad grabbed the gun out of the air, and sighted the hefty pistol at the vases. "Thank you, sir."
