Episode 4: The Siege of Echo Valley

Started by HumanHyperbole, March 09, 2021, 03:24:47 PM

Ick Rosewater

In future tellings of the story, Ick walked away from his burning shop without even looking back at the explosion. In all actuality he wisely ran, ducked for cover, and choked back tears as he landed on his revolver.

He sighed as all dangerous debris landed and he looked back on the remains of his livelihood. He'd worked hard to keep his shop from burning down. He had to. He tinkered enough with explosives that care was something that couldn't be compromised. Of course...it was difficult to protect against collateral damage.

"Well," said Ichabod 'Ick' Rosewater through gritted teeth. "Exclamation point, page break, next gorram chapter!"

Ick didn't have fond memories of his time in prison, but at least consorting with professional criminals had taught him the importance of a bugout bag. He'd long-since packed all up the essentials get on in the verse should things cease to go smooth. He'd grabbed it once the fighting started. He even had his revolver on his hip. He now drew it, surveying the damage. It looked like a total loss, but it seemed worthwhile to check and see what could be salvaged from his life of...hell, only a year. Contentedness had been short lived.

His shop had kind of chimera'd with the crashed shuttle and someone had emerged from it.

"Ay! Hold it there! Wait, never mind, get your ass over here!! Was that your shop? I'd apologize for your predicament but I need somebody to get my boat sailin' QUICK."

The gun Valiente had pointed at Ick was named "Silvia", but who asks for a gun's name?

Ick did. "Hey," said Ick. "What's the name of your gun?"

He emerged from silhouette with his gun trained on Valiente. "Mine ain't got no proper name. I just call it my roscoe. And seeing as how you just destroyed my, uh...my raisin dee etray and I don't particularly care if you shoot me; and seeing as how I'm the one with the know-how to fix that bucket...well...Roscoe here says that shuttle is my shuttle now and you should start convincing me to give you a lift. Call me 'Captain' only if you want to, it ain't a deal breaker."

Ick wasn't a great shot, even at this range. But after all the crap he'd gone through to scrape together this little haven for himself only to see it demolished in something that had nothing to do with him, there was no question about whether or not he would pull the trigger.

He would.

Holger Heyerdahl

Of course William Breene was fine. Holger had no doubt that the man was more than capable of taking care of himself; a spaceship crashing down around his ears or not. Still though, Holger was glad to have been proven right in this instance. They boarded the Revenge together, Holger examining Breene's pantslessness and verifying that the injuries weren't life threatening. Burns could be bad without proper medical care, which Doctor Missy was more than capable of administering.

Ironically Hypothermia from not wearing pants was more likely. Holger had seen it in the war. Lack of equipment, especially cold weather clothing, was prevalent among the Browncoats, which was a nickname only for the lucky few. Especially by the end of the war, those coats were more the exception rather than the rule. Exposure to the elements was one of many things that plagued the Independent cause and he sure was looking at it now. Not hypothermia, per se, in this instance, quite yet. No. Just William Breene not wearing enough clothes to ward off the cold.

Once inside and into the cockpit, Holger saw MacArthur and at once knew him to be a Fed. He sniffed the air obnoxiously. "I smell shit. Does anyone else smell shit?" His mischievous blue eyes landed on the screen. "Ah, there it is. I found the shit, even through the cortex I can smell your stink, Pig. Melody. Why are we talking to this Pig?" Izak and Melody, both former Purple Bellies, had more than proven themselves and had renounced their commissions. This man had done no such thing, as far as Holger was concerned. And there was no such thing as a good Fed. Even if this was the man responsible for taking down their enemies and saving The Revenge. These were old, deep wounds, not easily healed.

"William Breene. Do not tell me you work with this Purple-belly Pig."
Dialogue Color - Orange


"Hmph, not bad," Izak mused. Melody shot him a look, although it wasn't clear what the look was saying. Honestly, she wasn't sure what she was trying to convey with the glower she launched in his direction. He wasn't wrong, after all. It hadn't been bad. But that only served to annoy her all the more.

"I know you're going to hate this response but that information is related to one or more open investigations..." the lawman started telling her. With an obvious roll of her eyes, Mel tuned him out. It was likely something more or less along the lines of, 'That's Classified.' Classified, her ass. She'd had plenty of experience with sneaking out information that bull headed military men thought was 'classified,' and she'd do it again if she felt like it. Hell, all of their intel had been gained from 'classified' information, from the initial location of this ship, to the shipping lanes and ship manifests they'd be entering and disrupting.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Breen's arrival. Her blue gaze widened, then immediately narrowed. She made a point of looking from his face, down to his 'undergarments' and back again, her jaw clenched and the vein in her forehead thrumming visibly.

"I've dispatched a few of my subordinates to help clean up..."

"How generous," she returned, her tone flat and her attention back on the monitor. She reached up to grab the handheld for the comms system, but paused at the Marshal's next words.

"I'm going to overlook the origins of your ship for now. Just keep an eye on Breene for me for a bit."

She had to take a moment, then, to keep from opening fire on her own video display and telling Izak to figure out a way to get those weapons back online so she could open fire on his miserable little boat. Not only had he vaguely threatened them, or at least insinuated that he knew about the 'origins' of their ship and was magnanimousy choosing not to arrest them oon the spot (yet), but he'd also dumped the Breene boy with them as a ransom demand. He hadn't said it outright, but to her it was clear what he'd implied.

"Keep the idiot and we won't lock you all up for grand theft auto."

"I smell shit. Does anyone else smell shit?" Holger asked, and Mel was glad to have him on the bridge with her at a time like this. She nodded as he spoke, clearly agreeing with his observation of such a smell.

"Ah, there it is. I found the shit, even through the cortex I can smell your stink, Pig. Melody. Why are we talking to this Pig?"

"I don't rightly know," she answered, putting her hands on the edge of the console and offering the Marshal her prettiest smile, although the sight of it on her face was more than a little disturbing.

"Thank you for your assistance, Pig Officer. We are just so happy to have had your assistance in this matter, and greatly look forward to you leaving again. Your discretion is super appreciated, and we will look after this upstanding joy of a man for you," she said with a smile, her teeth gritting, her tone entirely disingenuous. 

"William Breene. Do not tell me you work with this Purple-belly Pig."

Her smile dropped and she flipped off the screen before cutting the connection. "No, he works for me, now," she told Holger. Finally done with the conversation with Johnny Law, Mel picked up the handheld for the ship systems and sighed.

"Doctor, you've got another patient. Breene's ass is falling off," she told the other woman. Putting the handheld back into its place, Mel leaned back in her chair as far as it would go and rubbed her face with her hands.

"Status report?" she asked the room. "Izak, how's the ship? Can she move? Or shoot? Breene..." Her hands lowered from her face and she turned her chair around to eye the new addition to her crew. "Get down to the Med Bay and see if Jo is up and about enough to find me a mechanic on this god forsaken hunk of dirt, and then stay ten feet away from me for the rest of the day," she ordered between a clenched jaw.

"Did we make any money from this? Holger, I threw Alan somewhere in the ship, would you mind hunting him down and making sure we get paid? I won't be specific about the 'how'." 
Dialogue Color: Brown

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