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Crotch Rot
Summary: It is often known that on Tomin Kora, things can go from their usually bad state, to worse. It definately got worse for one man who ended up transpiring in some rather tragic circumstances. Such is life on Tomin Kora, where the smart watch their backs and their mouths.
Cast: Dayton, Torr, Swiftfoot, Lucius, Sohaeyz, Malion, Gregorius, Ambition.
Air Date: 2006.5.28

The Bazaar <The Warren: Shadowheart, Tomin Kora> - The Warren Bustling. That one word describes this large and crowded open area that covers very nearly the entire length and width of the ruined skyscraper, and dull concrete and steel walls rise seventy-five feet above the floor. A thick web of catwalks and ramps begin around twenty feet up the walls, making it nearly impossible to see the ceiling from the floor. The lighting is dim, the only source of illumination being the bewildering array of luminescent signs that indicate an equally bewildering number of shops and stalls, many of them set into the walls above the floor and serviced only by ramps and walkways.

An amazing variety of trinkets, foodstuffs, and other small and generally cheap items are available from the vendors on the floor and the first few levels of walkways. As one moves higher up along the walls, the shops begin to get seedier. The top level of walkways and the vendors on it deal mainly in goods anywhere else would consider illicit. From the top level of catwalks, stairways lead up to the section of the Warren known as Level One. A gaudy sky-blue sign over a doorframe on the floor proclaims 'The Expanse - Bar and Casino'. Bright blue-white light spills from the entrance.


Torr snorts, looking around. "Not here. Its his fuckin' place, too dangerous," he replies to the man. "This isn't fuckin' La Terre. Heard about that shit from Ace, nice little piece of work."

Malion winces at the mention of La Terre, half expecting another broken jaw. "What?" he says in complete disbelief. "Good work for that?"

"Sarcasm, shithead," Torr replies. "Now we gotta fuckin' stay away from there. Not like there is much there, but still. Shit's useful to have a port."

"Nobody likes going to La Terre, anyways." Comments Malion.

"Yeah," Torr replies, nodding a little. "Why I don't really give a shit." He sniffs, staying put for now. Eyes still warily move across the crowd.

Malion turns back to face Torr, a faint frown residing on his lips. "Righto," he replies, before giving a sigh.

"What the fuck are you getting all hurt for," Torr replies, shaking his head a little. "Christ, what the fuck?"

"What's wrong?" Malion says, one hand slipping down to the pistol grip. He takes a step back towards Torr, and his other hand moves onto the slide. "Ya got something?" It seems that he's already prepared for action.

"Calm the fuck down," Torr replies, narrowing his eyes a little at the other man. "Shit, I'm talking to you. Why the fuck are you gettin' all sighing and shit."

"Because I'm fuckin' seedy," Malion says to Torr, as the hand on the slide is removed and placed back on top of the shotgun. He doesn't seem to pay any attention to Torr's eye narrowing, but he does keep his hand on the pistol grip of the weapon. "Ain't know for being a happy man when I'm fucking seedy."

"Right," Torr replies, shaking his head a little. "No fuckin' idea what the fuck you are talking about." He shifts the flak jacket over his shoulder a little. "Seedy," he mutters, shaking hishead.

"Ya ain't bloody heard of it before?" Malion says, cocking a brow at the other Martian. "Means that ya feel like shit after a night on the bloody piss, ya know." He shrugs the shoulder with the weapon sling hanging across it, and then takes a step towards the next stall.

"What, hungover?" Torr smirks as he responds. He moves along with Malion. "You're from the fuckin' boonies, remember. How the fuck am I supposed to understand half that shit comin' outta your mouth."

Gregorius moves through the dimly lit bazaar, browsing though the various stalls. He seems to be paying special attention to the food and weapon stalls and not to the ongoing conversation.

"Yeah... Start on the fuckin' quarter Outbacker boss," Malion says, chuckling light heartedly. "I'll remember that when ya've got a handbag chewing on ya head." He shrugs once more, finger running around the outside of the trigger guard.

If Lucius was weighed down a little bit before, he is now to a much more noticeable degree. He carries a black backpack; not on his back, but in his free hand. There are two identical rifle barrels poking out from the top of the opened thing.

Gregorius looks over a shotgun for sale, shakes his head and sighs. He says, "Great, just goddamn great. Shotguns are in working order, but never a frikking energy pistol that *works* for sale here when you need it, uh?!" Greg shakes his head again.

Just out of pure luck, Malion glances back towards the staff elevator and notices Lucius exit. A smile plays on his lips when he notices the barrels sticking out of the top. The man near by, Greg, gets a raised brow as he voices his opinion. "Told ya boss," he says in reply. "There he comes now."

Torr doesn't hear the outburst, the marketplace crowed enough the noise drowns it out. He and Malion are near enough to where they had been when Lucius left. "Good shit," he remarks as he looks over toward the direction Malion looked.

"Sorry about that, I got caught by one of the new G'ahnli big wigs promenading around like he was anything else than an owner in name. He made me fill out this long ass list of paperwork.. fucking prick." Lucius shakes his head, a bit sourly. "Here's your shit. Got you each three spare mags, too. We can go get ammo in a minute, k?" Lucius drops the bag to the ground, removing each rifle and its spare magazines and handing them to their respective owners.

Gregorius moves on to the food stall. He calls out to the vendor. "Burger, please. By the way, wouldn't happen to have a working energy pistol on you, uh?" Greg asks the vendor, who proceeds to shake his head in the negative. Grego frowns. "Ah shit, no energy pistols here? What happened?"

The gunsmith takes the Assault Rifle from Lucius, and immediately cocks the weapon and looks down the breach. "Cheers," he says to Lucius, as he runs through his weapons safety check. With the sling provided, Malion slings the assault rifle over his shoulder, and the takes the three extra magazines in hand. He then quickly places them into his trouser pockets. "Ain't too shabby."

Lucius, Malion and Torr are standing relatively close together, by the looks of it, just finishing up some business.

Torr smirks, grabbing the rifle. He hefts it, looking it over. Then he lifts it to his shoulder, sighting along it for a moment. A nod over the inspection. "Good shit." He tucks the mags away in a belt pouch.

"Damn straight it ain't too shabby. We had a bunch specially ordered from Gladius Industries to suit our unique needs.. blend medium range fire with controllable recoil and light enough weight." Lucius grins, as if rehearsing a commercial of some sorts. He rolls his eyes and glances about, briefly, before finding his mark - a small ammunition booth manned by a seedy looking biker guy with a big brown beard. And I mean big, like to his navel. Lucius moves towards him now.

Dayton slinks into the Bazaar, a bowl of what look to be mushrooms in his hand. Eventually reaching a booth, he points vigorously at the mushrooms, and then at the booth owner. It's difficult to hear him, but the words 'fucker' and 'pigshit' are evident.

Gregorius looks over to Dayton complaining to the stallkeeper and smirks. He calls out "Hey, you know the old saying, uh? 'Buyer beware!'" Gregor chuckles after he says this.

"Righto..." Malion says in reply to Lucius, arching a brow slightly. "The ammunition good, or what mate?" The rural Martian follows after the Warrenite, taking a moment to adjust the sling for the shouldered assualt rifle before his hands come back to rest on the shotgun.

Torr nods, sliding the weapon over his shoulder. "Well, good." He moves after Lucius, eyes still narrowed a little as he moves them across the crowd. He smirks, looking back to Malion and Lucius. "Bigman doesn't want a box of fuckin' dead ammo. Lets just say he already shoots blanks." He gives Mal a slap on the back.

"Hrh, you'd know," a voice from nearby observes, a fairly familiar voice, really. The peculiarly accented Terran Standard belongs to one orange-furred Demarian, pretty close to the group now and still approaching. Swiftfoot winks and offers a flick of her tail. "So how's the shopping trrip so farr?" she asks, addressing her two fellow Jackals and Lucius. Anyone else present goes unnoticed for the moment, or at least as unnoticed as anyone should go on Tomin Kora.

"George over here," Lucius motions at the bearded man, his eyes currently shrouded with a pair of old sunglasses and a black leather vest the only thing on his torso, besides a host of rather crazy looking tatoos, "has the best fucking selection of ammo on TeeKay. Shit, rivals Madina, though his booth might not look it." Once the biker-dude notices Lucius approaching, he grins widely - although this is only noticeable by the movement of his cheeks because his mouth is covered in a beard. "Georgey boy!" A rough gravelly voice arcs back out in return, "Get over here ya fucking Martian bastard!" Lucius chuckles and gives a wink as a greeting to Swifty, followed by a thumbs up.

Dayton ends up dropping the bowl on the foodvendor's counter, the thick earthenware breaking with a crack. Plump, round (and kind of rotten-looking) mushrooms bounce to the ground and roll about merrily as he strolls away, his eyebrows low, his hands stuffed into his sweatpants.

Gregorius chuckles as Dayton walks away. The chuckle turns into a laugh. "Yeah, what did I tell you? Always check out the food first before buying!", Greg cals out to the departing Dayton. Then Martin briefly glances over at Lucius walking over to George the bikerdude with all the ammo, He briefly archs his left eyebrow, but offers no comment as yet.

"Oi ya Swifty," Malion says, as he looks towards the Demarian Jackal. He then glances out the corner towards Torr. "Fuck ya boss," he grumbles, as he approaches the vendor. He offers a nod to the biker dude, and then back to Lucius. "I'll take ya word for it mate." Back to the Biker dude once more. "How much is two cases gonna cost me? And how much for bulk?" With movement out the corner of his eye, his hand moves back down to the pistol grip of the shotgun, just a precaution.

Torr pats the assault rifle now hanging across his chest, then the flak jacket slung over his shoulder. "Fuckin' good shit. And its great to be off the goddamn rock. Christ." He hefts the AR a little, looking over the shoulder of the other men at the ammo. "And shit, Swifty, Mika's the one who can't have kids. I'm fuckin' able to, think I have one floating around somewhere."

Swiftfoot chuckles and nods, sketching a half-assed salute at Lucius with one paw. "So what we shoppin forr, meh? Dunno if we can get much betterr than the arrmorr we've got, but we can always use morre guns, I suppose." The orange-furred privateer shrugs, then quirks an eyeridge at Torr. "Huh. Neverr knew that about herr. Neverr came up, I guess." Dayton gets a mildly interested glance. Gregorious gets just about the same glance, but followed up by a slight smirk. Other than that, the Demarian's attention is on the three she's conversing with.

"Well, skooter, if ya woulda come earlier and alone then I woulda overcharged ya. But since you're with my man Luke over here, I'ma give you a special rate. Looks like you got some fifty five six there. FMJ is two fifty credits for five hundred rounds, normally sell it at about double." Explains George, pulling a cigar from some shadowed corner of the booth and lighting it.

Lucius himself leans against the booth. "Gimme a thousand seventy six.. five hundred FMJ and five hundred AP. Then I need five hundred of those SABOT ten milli we talked about. Finally I want five hundred seventy six SABOTs. Potentially looking forward to a lot of ship combat and I see no reason to use an energy weapon less I /really/ need to." He pauses. "Mal, didn't you want some SABOT rounds for intra ship combat, too?"

George himself grabs a piece of paper and a pencil, jotting down a list of this. "Same bill?" He asks, then looks at the rest of the assembled peoples.

Dayton turns at the sound of Gregorius' taunting, his already dour expression souring even further as he now begins to walk towards the human, his hands pulling out of his sweatpants to swing at his sides, the two pistols hanging near his stomach bumping together with a mild plastic clink. "Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck are you involved in my business?", the diminuitive man booms.

Gregorius stops chuckling as the stallkeeper gives him the burger he ordered. He begins to eat it and returns the Demarian's smirk, plus an arched eyebrow. And then he hears what Dayton has to say to him and turns, takes burger out of mouth, replies: "Eh, nobody special. Just a guy who knows the difference between good and spoiled food *before* ordering it, which you shoulda done, in my opinion. That way, you don't poison yourself, uh?" Gregorius stares down at the man and notes the pistols with eyebrow still up.

The gunsmith drops into a contemplative silence as he listens to the vendor. Though Dayton's bellow causes Malion to immediately turn and face the commotion. A look of total disbelief crosses his face, and he shakes his head at Gregorius' reply. "Hundred credits on Nick," the rural Martian comments to the vendor and his companions. "Any takers for the other guy?" It appears that he's willing to bet anything these days.

Torr snorts. "Nah, I'm just fuckin', dunno if she really can't. Never tried that hard, so who the fuck knows. Bet she can." He shifts a little, patting the flak jacket. "Figured we could use one of these fuckers. Solace maybe." He looks to the ammo vendor. "I'm already up to my eyes in fuckin' ammo, thanks." At the shouting, Torr glances toward the source, smirking a little. "Fuck that."

At the first sound of the loud voice, Swiftfoot's ears snap back, and her head turns toward the source, one paw twitching towards one of her holstered pistols. Little jumpy, are we? After a moment, she chuckles, her stance relaxing slightly, the paw dropping to her side. "Shit no, Mal, if I was gonna do that, I mayaswell just hand you a hundrred crred, and you still ain't showed me yourr pierrcing, so what should I do that forr?" she replies easily. The big cat then nods at Torr in agreement. "Think she's just got Kevlarr rright this moment."

Lucius holds up a solitary index finger to George, who lays down his pen for a little bit to begin collecting Lucius's ammunition; it is already boxed out in smaller numbers but must be stacked so it can be transported. Lucius himself turns around to watch the exchange going on, hand falling to his assault rifle. Quietly, he clicks the safety off the bulky weapon, holding onto its grip as if for dear life. Then, something comes to him out of nowhere - BAM. "Hey, ain't he wanted by the Ungstiri for some rockhopper shit?" Asks the Hesperian ex-Legionary, voice low so that only those in close vicinity to him can hear. "I'm not really a betting man when it comes to this kind of thing, though. Guns are too unpredictable to bet on."

"Nobody is right," Dayton says with authority. "You wouldn't know good mushrooms if one grew out of your ass." A hand reaches up to the plasma pistol at his stomach. "Repeat that back to me," he says, glaring up to the foot-taller Gregorius.

Gregorius sneers at the runt. "'You wouldn't know good mushrooms if one grew out of your ass,' How's that, uh?" Greg in turn puts his left hand on his hip.

Malion shakes his head, and glances over his shoulder to the rest of the group. "Come on... Any takers? Thousand to one odds, and if ya win Swifty... I'll show ya me piercing." Back to the commotion he goes, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Huh," Torr muses, giving the man a slow once over. Eyes flick back to Lucius as Torr casually wraps fingers around the grips of his new gun. "Think he looks fuckin' close to that fucker on the bounty list. Was just readin' that shit while I was waitin' for your ass on G'ahnlo. Wanted dead, huh?" He cocks an eyebrow, as well as flicking the safety off his rifle.

Dayton stands in front of Gregorius, while Torr, Malion, Lucius, and Swiftfoot speak with each other.

"All I gotta do is feed you some Vestcya and I can see that shit forr frree," Swiftfoot notes, winking at Malion. One of the felinoid's paws again wanders toward a holstered gun, this time her fingers going around the handgrip of the weapon. "That's him," she agrees in a low voice, nodding. "I rrememberr when Rrill wanted me to stand away and let him take that one down. Hrh. Funny shit."

"That's the idea. Though alive is always preferable, if they'll have it that way. And I don't know many places that wouldn't." Lucius shrugs, voice kept purposely low as he watches the fight. This really is quite amusing - a heavily armed little man facing off against an unarmed, unarmoured six footer. Should be good. His hand remains gripped quite carefully around his rifle; yet he simply watches, for now. "If we took those odds, Mal, we'd be idiots. I know you're trying to be a good salesman and all but.." Swifty gets a look. "Let's wait until, eh?"

In the background, George the massively bearded man continues to fill out Lucius's ammunition order, having almost done so by now. "What can I get you two boys? And you, Miss Demaria with the sharp claws." He laughs, the sound rough and frankly, rather hilarious sounding. No wonder everyone loves George the bulletmaker.

Dayton punches a button near the handgrip of the plasma pistol and it begins to hum droningly, still in the holster. One hand reaches up to lower his mirrored glasses, and slightly slanted hazel eyes narrow as he continues to look up at Gregorius, some of his anger melting into something that looks like amused disbelief. "You aren't terribly bright, are you?" he asks, deadpan. "Did your boyfriend get a little too violent with the cocksucking? Break something in your brainpan? Just tell me you're retarded, and I'll give you a five pace head start."

Sohaeyz pulls off her glove as she steps onto Teekay, stuffing them away into pockets. Collar goes up, hat comes down, and she starts to walk quickly and with an air of assumed badassness, so much that.. no one would dare touch her.

Gregorius sighs and finishs offf his burger. Cheing loudly, Martin sez, if Dayton can understand standard with food mixed in: "Up yours, Shorty! I'll tell you that when you eat some of those mushrooms here. On the ground. Use your tongue, uh?" In the mean time, Marty starts backing away from the heavily armed man.

Dayton stands in front of Gregorius, while Torr, Malion, Lucius, and Swiftfoot speak with each other. Sohaeyz is just arriving.

Malion slides the safety off on the shotgun, and looks towards the rest of the small group he's with. "Let it go... He's a good bloke," he says, motioning towards Dayton. "Hell, ya should be congratulating him boss... He's the one who fucked up that retarted Demarian, Goldenfur." The walking armoury known as Malion takes a step back, just in case of anything going astray, if worse comes to worse that is.

"Bounty specifically said dead only, bring in the body. Thats why I remember that shit," Torr replies, his own tone hushed as he watches the developing drama. "Seemed more like a hit than anything else, fuckin' stuck in my head." He holds onto the AR, eyes narrowed slightly as he watches. "Probably worth more trouble than its worth. And we'd have to go back to the goddamn rock."

From the top level of vendor walkways emerges a leather-jacketed figure, complete with wraparound shades: orange mohawk the most identifying characteristic. The shadows slide away from him like the parting caress of a satiated lover as he passes under the lights that illuminate the stairwell, only to disappear into another dark embrace - that of the dimly lit lower level. Like a raven, the growing confrontation attracts him, and he slinks through the scattered crowd towards it. He approaches from Gregorious' rear.

Swiftfoot snorts softly, then both eyeridges shoot upward at the big man's response. "He's so gonna end up dead. That's my bet," she notes, shaking her head. The felinoid shakes her head at the ammo-maker, holding up the pistol that her paw's been resting on for a non-chalant inspection. "I'm an enerrgy weapon girrl myself. Lot easierr on the ship's hull when you'rre on boarrd. Besides, being able to set it to stun comes in handy sometimes." Anyone with sharp hearing would probably pick up the sound of the pistol powering up, but the barrel remains pointed at the ground, hanging easily at the Demarian's side.

Sohaeyz is drawn to the conflict, but not because she wants apart of it... she just isn't paying close enough attention is all. And we all know how bad that can be.

"True. The Rock isn't exactly high on my places to be list, at the moment." Lucius shrugs, his stance relaxing substancially and his thumb jerking the safety back onto his rifle. This, he slings over his shoulder oncemore.

Luckily, this is when George has just finished Lucky's ammunition packaging, thumping it on the counter. "Pay now, skooter?" He asks.

Lucius nods, counting out some chits briefly before handing them over, patting his mate on the back and then retrieving the big box of ammo, which is put on the floor.

George says, "When you're all done watchin' the scuffle, I'll be ready for ya. Though I respectfully disagree with the lady over here about that.. I was a pirate for twenty years. Trust me." He sits back down, wiking and picking his cigar up oncemore.

Dayton presses the primer on the pulse pistol and draws the plasma pistol out, both now humming at varied frequencies. The plasma pistol is tilted only slightly down, towards Gregorius' lower torso or perhaps upper thighs. "One last chance," he says simply, winking at the human.

Gregorius stops for a moment. With a mouth cleared of food and mouth agape for a second, Martin then replies "What the hells..is that an actual *working* plasma pistol?! Excuse me, pistols? Tell you what, guy. I'll say that if you in turn can get me a pistol like that yours and which actually works? Also, will buy you a proper bowl of mushrooms? Hows about it, uh?", Greggy offers Dayton.

Ambition changes direction. He stands several feet away, now, lurking in the shadow of a dribgib stand of questionable quality - and this time, quite thoroughly away from the line of fire drawn through Gregorius if it would originate from Dayton.

Malion raises a hand, and then rubs the bridge of his nose, lifting his dark sunglasses to do it.. "What a fuckin' idiot," he grumbles under his breath. He smirks and then shakes his head, seeming unaware of Ambition or Sohaeyz just yet. Poor George goes unanswered as the gunsmith continues to watch the tension building scene.

Torr doesn't relax his stance or his grip on the rifle. He keeps eyes on the fight, especially now that the weapon is drawn. A slight smirk crosses his face. "This is entertaining shit. I'm gettin' a little sick of it though. Fuckin' slow. Would have fucked that other dude up a lot sooner than this."

"Gotta agrree with ya," the Demarian says, nodding. "You ain't long on patience, chief." She chuckles then, and offers a slight shrug. "Ah well, takes all types, I suppose." The powered-up pistol is still in one paw, hanging at her side, and her manner is still rather tense. If she notices the two Timonae, Swiftfoot gives no indication.

"Listen!" Lucius calls out to Dayton. "If you char him all up in the bazaar and he makes those black smear marks, then I assure you, Mister Dayton, it's going to be YOU cleaning it up, and not me. So, what I'm saying is - if you need to kill the man, then make sure his corpse doesn't have time to settle on the ground and stick." Although he sets his tone loud during, he frowns a bit and shrugs towards Greg. "Sorry boyo, you've called it on yourself."

Sohaeyz looks up at the humming of a pistol, freezing, violet eyes shifting all about as they look for the armed perpetrator. Upon spotting where the tension originates, she likewise scatters, heading to check out this adorable little statuette of a Nemoni.

The diminuitive Lunite raises his hand to the unknown voice, not turning his head from Gregorius. "He'll be placed in the proper receptacles," he booms in a mock-geeky tone with a touch of hurried annoyance. This offhand moves to brace the pistol as he aims it straight for the human's crotch. He grimaces. "You lost your chance at mushrooms about a minute ago, bud. Goodbye." With that, he pulls the trigger.

Gregorius is blasted by the dwarf's plasma bolt and is flung to the ground by the shot. As he lies there, he gasps out. "Fu..F..Fuck you too, you fucking runt. Just remember though, you live by the gun, you..die..by the gun. And on Tomi..Tomin Kora, that will be soon. Bye, shithead!" Marty leans up, gives Dayton the middle finger, drops down, hand dropping down. Then his last words are.."My gods..my cr..cro..crotch is on freaking fire!" Then Martinus expires at last.

When the plasma blast from Dayton's gun strikes Greg, Malion can't help to give a sympathetic wince as the blast hits the other man in the crotch. His face contorts in disguist, and he looks slightly away from the dying party. But a morbid curiousity drags him back for a second glance.

"Damn," Torr mutters at the shot, a smirk spreading across his face. "Fucked him up good." He shakes his head, eyes on the man a little longer. "Alright. I'm gonna get back to the fuckin' ship. Catch you assholes later." He moves toward the exit of Warren.

Sohaeyz winces at the shot, sets the Nemoni figure down, and shakes her head at the vendor's question. Then she hurries to join Dayton. "You could have not shot him, you know that?"

"Shit," Swiftfoot notes incredulously, shaking her head at the spectacle. The felinoid looks away from the dying man, her expression distasteful and/or disgusted to say the least. If she wasn't covered in fur, she'd probably have a faint green tinge to her skin. "Yeah, think I'm with him. Wanna get out of herre beforre morre of that kind of shit happens. I'll see you guys back on the ship." With that, the Demarian turns and heads out toward the exit.

"That's fucking disgusting. See ya'll." Lucius says, eyes narrowing. His boots are quickly found stomping towards Dayton, one hand on his rifle as a resting spot. The ammunition and his bag are left near George's booth, forgotten for now. He stops about twenty feet away from the man, yelling, "Now clean this shit up. I don't need some dumb fucker's plasmafied semen sticking to the base of the bazaar. Not good for customers, see."

"My appointment can wait," Ambition says as he emerges from the shadows. "Castrations are never a good omen for a business conference. Any chance of stealing another ride, Swiftfoot?" He looks to Torr. "Excuse me. I believe we've had this conversation - you're the one to ask, now. And I expect somewhere amidst a string of expletives will be mention of a fare."

Dayton chuckles in a low tone, dutifully going to grab the body under the armpit and dragging the crackling corpse in the direction of the closest booth with a grim smile on his face, turning and raising his eyebrows at the sound of the familiar Timonae. "He could have been nicer, sugartits," he grunts to Sohaeyz, shrugging, his nose crinkling as the smell finally wafts up to his nose.

"Smells like... burnt dribgib," Malion comments stepping towards the Lunite and the other Martian. "Need a hand mate?!" he calls out to Dayton. He's turning slightly green at the smell of the burnt, carstrated and recently deceased Greg. He doesn't notice his XO and crewmate beat a hasty retreat.

"Don't call me that. You know I hate that nickname." Althea says, albeit with less heat. She doesn't look particularly thrilled with Dayton carrying his trophy about, but she does kneel down to take his boots and try to help. "You didn't have to shoot him."

"Good, I'm not mad with you anymore." Lucius even manages to grin rather widely at that, saying to Dayton. "Listen, since you were kind enough to wax this fucker who's been annoying the Warren for the past year and also blow off Goldenfur's foot, I think you deserve a medal. What colour do you prefer, silver or gold? Bronze ain't an option, it's for big fucking pussies."

"Well, hello." Thoughts of departure are apparently forgotten as Ambition discovers Sohaeyz. "Did you have time to try the trip I gave you, my dear?" He nods to Dayton. "Nice shot."

Dayton winces at Sohaeyz's criticism, raising his glasses to hide his eyes. "Ahh, don't get like that, 'Thea," he says grumpily. As Malion approaches, the Lunite gestures towards the other side of the corpse. "Appreciate the help," he says in a low tone. He turns towards Ambition, nodding silently and grunting. Then he seeks out the previously unknown voice, narrowing it down to Lucius. "I'd prefer some decent fucking morels," he says flatly. "Fucker gave me criminis."

Malion breaks into a slow jog, and moves around to the side indicated by Dayton and kneels down, slipping his arm underneath the dead man. "Nice work on that fuckin' annoying Goldenfur," he adds once more. He then glances back to Sohaeyz and gives a nod. "Hey trouble." His attention is returned to Dayton once more. "Been a while mate." He looks like he's ready to lift when ever ready, but the look of disgust on his face is still evident.

Sohaeyz lets the men handle this, seeing how she can barely outmuscle a fly. Ambition's question draws her attention, and the sudden flare of color in her cheeks suggests his answer. "Wasn't bad."

That said and done, Lucius turns around, shrugging mainly as a gesture to himself. He walks back, slowly now, to retrieve his bag and box of ammunition.

Ambition grins, toothily. "I have more," he observes with a casual grin. "In various flavors. Pretty Lights, Spinning Room, Imaginary Friends ... and, of course, your current favorite." The Timonae lets Lucius and Dayton handle their lifting.

"I seem to be a magnet for the retarded," Dayton says with a sigh, pointing Malion towards a dumpster about fifteen feet away. "Just up and in," he says simply. "Then I'm heading to bed."

"Righto," Malion says, looking towards the dumpster. "I'm getting close to giving a couple of fucks a gut load of buck shot meself." Handling the body doesn't seem to affect him... much, and he does indeed help carrying the recently deceased towards the bin, waiting for further instructions.

Althea shakes her head. "You can't get me hooked on your code, Rumples. I see right through you." The little Timonae points at her eyes, then at the mohawked Kamiroid. "I'm smart, in case you didn't know that."

"Indeed I can't," Ambition replies. "You can stop using them anytime you want." He tilts his head. "But if you're so smart, answer me this: why stop? It feels good."

Dayton grunts as they get to the lip of the dumpster. "On three, just dead lift over the head and down," he says. As an afterthought, he adds, "Anybody interesting?"

"Ya best mate Goldenfur," Malion says, grunting himself as he prepares to push the body over the lip. "Some stupid god damned fucking Earther who hasn't done something simple I asked her to do." He looks across to the Lunite, and nods.

Lucius, with his new cache of weapons, armour and much ammunition, begins to head towards the exit of the Warren, eyes drooping a bit, tiredly. Long day and all.

Althea points a finger at ambition, mouth opening to deliver a brilliant counterstroke. A second passes, and a bit of the fire fades, taking on a more introspective stance, then finally... the hand lowers to her side and she huffs. "'cause I can."

"Three!" Dayton calls out, hefting the body up and over into the dumpster with Malion's help, the corpse banging loudly as it hits the inner wall. "Well, good luck with that," he says. "Tell the kitty hi for me when you do it." He puts his hands to his nose, sniffing, then shakes his head. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," he grunts. "I'm off to bed."

"Indeed you can," Ambition replies. "But, do you really want to?" And continuing with this flawless logic: "And since you don't want to stop, isn't stopping for stopping's sake a lot less fun than what you could be doing?"

"Later Nicodemus," Malion says respectfully, giving a nod to the Lunite. "I'll tell Swifty that ya said hi and shit." He passes a glance over the edge of the dumpster, peering down at the dead body. "Wonder if he's got anything worth pinching." He takes a step back and then dry heaves. "It can stay there."

Dayton nods gruffly. "Yeah, I don't think he's worth tasting dinner twice," he says. "Later." With that, he walks towards the exit of the Warren.

"I'll meet you at the ship, Ni!" Sohaeyz yells at the departing man, before sighing and looking back to the datadaze-peddling hackerman.

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