The moment came, as all such moments must come.

It had trundled on with the inevitability of a train barreling down the tracks. 

And it was just as deadly.

Darius swiveled, but not as ably as he once might have done.  His knee reminded him that it wasn't original issue, and his leg dragged a bit in what should have been a well-practiced and well-executed maneuver.

But Darius was well acquainted with the inequities of his age and injury, and dancing was not the full extent of his response.  He might have relied on his suit's armor layer to protect him, but no armor was fool-proof, and he had no surety where the blade would land.  He reached with his left hand as well as his right. 


His left hand took up his helmet from its magnetic mount on the backside of his belt, bringing it around as an improvised shield.

His right hand snatched up his heavy pistol, pivoting it to fire.


He squeezed the trigger as he brought the weapon to bear.  Skill, God, or Fortune would determine where the bullet landed, and whether it landed in time to save him.

While the warehouse cargo-loader he was driving wasn't meant for speed, it had three things on its side in this moment. It could maneuver and corner on a dime if the operator knows what they're doing. Combined with the cargo and its rider, the machine clocked in around the same weight as a hover-mule twice its size. And lastly, Cooper used to race these things around the halls of his home-ship with the other Golden Trail teen delinquents back in the day.

At first it would have looked like the aggravated Aussie accented nomad was just trying to dodge attacks and Boa Lin's goons. He was leaving Francis to fend for himself but his top priority was to protect the cargo, and the Captain, but not in that order. He moved the loader backwards in a zig-zag pattern, trying to minimize his adversary's angles of attack. Just as it looked like he was bringing the loader to retreat, he turned sharply towards the man threatening the captain.

Quote from: noseatbelts on July 29, 2020, 07:52:33 AM"Run away and leave the cargo, or we will kill you like Bao Lin will kill your dog."

The cargo loader slammed into him, pallet of cargo first, sending him slamming into the ground and under the narrow gap between the cargo and the ground.

"Woof."

With one hand on the machine's controls he lowered the pallets of cargo down onto pinned assailant. The pop of rounds coming from Cooper's pistol to provide the Captain cover fire didn't conceal the screams and crunching noises that came from the man who dared threaten a woman in his presence. The former soldier let loose a couple rounds in the direction of any of Boa Lin's men nearby until his magazine clicked empty.

"We should move."

He barked back at the captain as he slapped another magazine into his pistol and pivoted the loader so the pallets of cargo could be used as cover again. Though now anyone who got close enough could try and grab some of the crates off the back. Hence the former soldier's firm suggestion about relocation. But he was going to let the Captain make a call as to where. This may be he, Francis, and King's area of expertise but she was still in charge.  Find the real customer? Run to the feds? Or just make a dash back to the Odette and seek the safety of putting the distance of the black between them? Cooper wasn't partial save involving the damn feds.

"No!"

His voice and his grip startled the debutante and she stiffened, her gaze snapping back up to his face, expression a mix of surprise, indignation, and concern. The part of her raised in luxury was appalled that a servant had just barked an order at her and then dared lay his hands on her flesh. However, the part of her that knew better and could gauge their situation, was entirely concerned that she was about to be shot. Again. A brief moment of relief filled her as King came to the rescue, putting himself between their guide (who she was now sure was fake) and herself. However, the relief faded as she looked at the hand still clamped painfully around her wrist. Charity winced, trying to tug her arm free and feeling fairly certain he was bruising her.

"You will be dead. Wan Kuok-koi and the Red Talon Tong will see to it," their former friend spat at them. Her umbrella now laying upside down on the ground (and getting mighty filthy), the hand holding her handkerchief went to try to pull her own arm out of Bao's grip. Tong. Tong. Tong tong tong tong. She'd heard that word before. The Moda Tong. The shadowy organization Jax (her former Captain) had said hired Wushu to go ruin a man's wedding and that led to her being placed in a dingy backwater space station hospital. Did Moda and Red Talon belong to the same group? Was Tong just an umbrella term? Did she really have time to be thinking about this?

Finally, King's threat level seemed to rise in Bao's eyes and he released her, leaving her to stumble back a few steps. She picked up her umbrella and closed it swiftly, flinching at the snapping noise it made once folded back up. A bullet hit the ground by her and she gasped in horror, turning around to stare at its owner incredulously. Eyes found Francis, brows furrowing and mouth opening into an offended 'O' shape. "You shot at me!" she accused, having seen no part of his own struggle back there. Then, another outrageously impolite member of their 'guard' was facing off against her.

"Run away and leave the cargo, or we will kill you like Bao Lin will kill your dog," he threatened. She lifted the handkerchief to her nose, then lowered it angrily, "Oh, I hardly-" Righteous indignation was cut off as the cargo loader rammed into the mannerless gentleman, crushing him slowly and most likely painfully. Charity looked appalled, turning her face away and pressing the handkerchief she had folded over her index finger against the bottom of her nose. Still, despite her horrified shock, she knew better than to stand in the open and with a quick tug of Pele's arm, she moved behind Cooper and his dangerous equipment.

"We should move," their deadly mechanic informed them, loading another magazine into the gun in his hand.

"Move where?" she asked Cooper, looking around at the Chaos and spotting Francis. "Mister Church! If you would be so kind as to lead us in the general direction of where we're supposed to be meeting with our client?" she yelled at him, setting a hand idly on Cooper's forearm for balance. "Or if you know the address? I don't know my way around so I'm afraid I must rely entirely upon one of you," she told him, her voice a more appropriate volume.

Jedikiah's staff moved slow along the ground then snapped like a whip at one wrist holding a club and then one holding a knife. It moved like a whip, his attempt to strike the nerve along each wrist. He moved forward as if stumbling, his instinct for a simple drunken style Kung fu seemed appropriate. Without much thought to hit he shifted his weight as though uncertain where and what he was doing. A drunken old man moving in jerky slow motion he turned to grip an arm, pinch a nerve.

And then a more aggressive move, his left foot kicked out at a more distant attacker striking hard on his hip. Then drunk no more he swooped low to avoid those no longer fooled by what little his advantage might have given him.

He took in the movements of his comrades and rolled away from them hoping to turn a few heads and give his allies a chance at their enemy's back.  Charity moved to direct them in some safer direction. People near by panicked. Jedikiah stood after his attempted defenses and attacks. He stood normal, always as he did. His head tilted a little, sound and light, mood and intention flowed along his aura.

Odette Crew

People screamed.

And ran.

And pushed, and shoved, and clawed their way away from the chaos. Unfortunately, Captain Charity and her crew were at the center of it and Bao Lin's guards were keeping them in place. If a wayward escapee found their way into the circle, they were dealt with in equal measure to the force the Tong were attempting to use on the Odette. Luckily, or was it, Francis and Coop seemed to be the only ones brandishing firearms in the direct vicinity of the cargo.

"Whyyyy?" Francis screamed, a Tong guard wrapping his club around his throat as he swung his pistol wildly trying to get a shot at the others, one of which appeared before him with the flash of a knife. Francis' training kicked in as his heel kicked out. A body blow to the Tong behind him and he was free. Two quick and efficient bullets made sure to keep it that way.  Charity's voice entered his ear and Francis, for the moment, was able to respond. "Um. Sure thing." He dug out his cortex device and pulled up the address of where they were meant to go, meanwhile missing Jed's dazzling display of martial prowess with his attention turned to the handheld computer screen in his hand. "Oh, it's not far from here."

---

Darius and Yang Gao

Yang Gao, in his attempt to bull rush Darius, caught the pistol round square in the chest and dropped like a sack of bricks. As discord ensued on the other side of the docks, so too did it erupt at the sound and sight of a man shot in the street. Yang Gao was not so easily defeated, however, his zealotry for his Captain's call returning him to his feet. That didn't make him a better fighter, as he attempted the same tactic again. "Cheung Po!" He screeched his master's name in a battle cry as his dagger found Darius' chest. It rebounded off the space suit. He looked up at the taller man, uncomprehending. "How?"

King and Bao Lin

An elbow to the face. A knee to the abdomen. A heel kick dodged. Punches swatted away and returned in equal measure. Bao Lin's refined martial arts were matched by King's efficient military CQC training. Both men breathed heavily as the scene only grew worse around them.

"You will not get away with this." Bao Lin tried to steady his breath, but the last hit to his chest was making it difficult to fill his lungs. "You are meddling in affairs you cannot possibly comprehend."

"Doesn't seem too complicated to me. We're making a delivery to your boss' rival. Pretty standard stuff actually."

Bao Lin was taken aback, but attempted to recover. "A rivalry that-"

King laughed. "Has gone back, what, decades? Centuries? I don't care." The mercenary's hand went to the gun at his belt. Time to end this. Bao Lin, as winded as he was, surprised with a quick move to stop the pistol from exiting its holster. An iron grip and a quick movement quickly disarmed the slide, tearing the weapon apart. He tossed the remnants aside as King, bewildered by the efficiency of the move, took a blow to his foot as Bao Lin stomped on the bridge. Pain shot through King as bones broke, momentarily distracting him and allowing a punch to the temple. King shot Bao Lin a glare through hazy vision, but refused to fall.

And the fight continued.

---

Cooper, The Cargo, Charity, and Pele

Coop found himself beset upon by several Tong who sought to accomplish their mission: retrieve the cargo by any means necessary. One hopped up on top of the crates and, in his haste, toppled the whole thing over, sending Coop, the loot, himself, and his comrades flying to the ground right around where Charity and Pele had decided to hide, the goods displayed clearly for the two women. What seemed like endless, unmarked, paper-wrapped bricks, each about 4x6x2, scattered from their protective sawdust and onto the cobblestones.

It didn't take the guards long to recover.

Zeal. 

It was the root of Zealot, and an overabundance of one created the other.

Darius had heard ancient stories about cultists and warrior tribes who believed so deeply in their faith, philosophy, cause, tribe, or King, that they would literally walk into gunfire and stop only when their bodies refused to carry them forward. 

Most ordinary people would go down after being shot anywhere.  A few would go down even if a shot missed them, fear doing the job that marksmanship had failed to do. 

But a sliver of humanity- some of the most dangerous ones- they'd come at you seven paces after their heart had stopped.

Yang Gao was one of these.  A zealot.

And Darius, unprepared for such resolve, took a knife to the chest.

Fortunately, while he was unprepared for such resolve, he was fully prepared to be a second too slow.  In his chosen career, 'Life Insurance' was an armored suit.

Still clutching his helmet in his left hand, he swung it around to club the shocked pirate across the face.  And again.  And again.

"Fortune.

Favors.

The.

Prepared!"

Counting on the blood-loss and bludgeoning to finish his foe, Darius began to take in the pandemonium which had engulfed the docks.  There was more going on here than his impromptu reckless duel with a pirate henchman. 

There had been a gunshot, hadn't there? 

One that wasn't his?

Someone else was making a move on the docks.  Maybe someone else had spotted Po and decided to try for the bounty.

For a moment, Darius hesitated. 

What to do?

Part of him wanted to go back to Po's ship and execute the man, both to end his crazy crusade and to make sure the fever-brained maniac didn't send people after him. 

Part of him wanted to use the crazed crowd to escape this scene, as he'd probably just committed homicide and it might be hard to explain to a lawman that it was justified.  Maybe he could find a ship leaving and get aboard.  At this point, transportation was more important than negotiating a good job with good pay and good benefits. 

Still on the fence, he moved to plunge into the crowd, looking for something that might break the decision one way or the other.

In a fight, Bruce Lee would say "be water". However Cooper Brown was from another school of thought. He had to protect the crew, and his Captain. It wasn't just a matter of duty, but honor, and faith. The loyalty to one's crew goes above their loyalty to any god in the Golden Trail. In a sense that loyalty in and of itself is exalted. No matter how bloody pear shaped everything has gone. One must protect their crew. By gun, by knife, by hammer and fist. Whatever it takes.

The rush of men had knocked over him and all the cargo. If Cooper wasn't grumpy on account of his lack of sleep, this surely got him there. Adrenaline rushing, not quite registering any pain from getting tackled onto the hard ground by several dudes and all their cargo, he rose from the fracas with his pistol in one hand, and his hammer in the other. One of the goon-squad was right on him, though, immediately trying to wrestle the pistol away. He pulled the trigger twice into the man's stomach and then brought the hammer down on top of the foe's head to finish things decisively.

In the second he had to spare before he had to engage his next foe, it dawned on him his suggestion to relocate had now gone out the window. There was no way they were going to re-pack the crates in the midst of a street battle. So they'd just have to win the street battle. Bollocks to running. This was not the time to be water. This was the time to be the rock against which the waves crash. This fight would have to sort out who was the unstoppable force and who was the immovable object.

Three more rounds went into the nearest member of the gang, moving towards the Captain and Pele. That seemed to put an end to that guy's ambitions, but by the time the third shot rang out, another was within arm's reach. He went for the head with his hammer but the attack was successfully blocked, three more rounds into that man's torso, then a coup-de gras to the forehead before he addressed the ladies with a look of focused aggravation:

 "We're gonna have to scrap this one out!"

And what a scrap it was shaping up to be. Now faintly coated in blood from the close quarter combat. Bloody hammer still in hand, Cooper brought both weapons together, his right hand and pistol resting atop his left forearm, hammer gripped tightly, ready to strike. Not dissimilar from the way you see cops hold guns and their flashlights in a cortex vid.

The former soldier scanned for his next adversary. This was going to be a proper dust-up if they didn't push back harder and force their enemy to back down. Mister Brown backed up towards Charity and Pele. This melee wasn't getting any better in a hurry. So his priorities in his mind were already starting to shift towards saving as much of his crew as he could.

Gunfire. It was not to be a scuffle nor any sort of 'rumble'. It was a fight with death and killing.

Moving some distance from his allies had proved to be of little tactical value, enemies moved to cut him off and overwhelm him with numbers. Smart, his move had left him with few options and his crew would need more that the breaking of wrists and kicked knees of their adversaries.

They were enemies and the Leopard was to be unleashed. Of the five basic form styles of Kung Fu it was the most direct, to strike fast paced counter attacks and multiple hard strikes.

'Golden Leopard Speeds Through Forest'

Jedikiah struck with force and definitive purpose.
Punches with the leopard fist,
his hard short nails striking with force and searing tearing of the flesh;
kicks with the full expenditure of chi to sternum and solar plexus, joints, and nerve clusters.

He moved toward the cargo and the Captain where the focus of the enemy was directed.

As it turned out, Pele had been completely correct in her assessment that her gun would be safe from intrusive hands under her dress. Unfortunately, that included her own. The runaway bride found herself kneeling on the ground, hitching up her skirt and trying to reach for her concealed weapon as the fight raged on around her. She wasn't exactly sure how she'd ended up on the ground in the first place, but she had an inkling it had something to do with the frilly woman huddled next to her.

Finally, Pele's hand made contact with something cool and metallic. She yanked the pistol out just in time for the cargo-loader to come crashing down right next to the two women. Had her finger been on the trigger at that moment, she might have been startled into pulling it out of sheer reflex, but thankfully that wasn't the case. Still on her knees, she gripped her weapon and stared at the bricks sprawled across the ground.

"Is that drugs?" she hissed at Charity, even though she knew full well the other woman didn't know any more than she did. "I knew it wasn't just rations!" There was a tone of bitter victory in her voice, but her triumph was quickly deflated by the sound of gunshots ringing a little too close for comfort. She turned around, her gaze landing on the blood-drenched, hammer-wielding mechanic. And I thought he looked brutish covered in dust.

"We're gonna have to scrap this one out!"

What? Scrap? Words were coming out of the man's mouth, but they weren't quite registering. For a fleeting moment she felt the urge to retreat into her tried and true damsel act and hide behind his broad shoulders. Then she remembered she was holding a gun herself. She'd bought the small pocket pistol in the final weeks of her relationship with Cecil, when the unease she felt around him had begun to grow into a full-blown sense of danger, but she hadn't actually had to use it yet. Cecil had taken her to a shooting range once -- he'd found her discomfort around firearms cute -- so she had shot a pistol before, but the hectic heat of a real gunfight was a far cry from that tightly-controlled environment. Not to mention the fact that the targets were moving now.

Gripping the pistol, Pele stumbled up on her feet and ducked towards the tipped-over cargo loader, pressing herself against the vehicle for cover. She tried to keep her hand steady as her gaze darted wildly around her, ready to shoot at (or at the very least in the general direction of) any crooks who tried to come for her.

Odette Crew

The goslings were pressed in together as the mob mobbed. They're various skills proved useful, for the most part, in dispatching with the Tong, but that still left more than a little chaos to be dealt with. But they hadn't come equipped for a fight and ammunition was running as low as morale.

Francis, surprisingly calm in this situation (he was, after all, trained for this sort of thing) hunkered down next to Charity, Pele, and was soon joined by Jed and Cooper. The only one not currently accounted for was King, who still seemed locked in an epic flurry of blows with Bao Lin. Francis raised his pistol and tried to get a clean shot on the Tong leader, but the combatants were too locked in to provide any help with the aim. "I don't have a shot. Hey! Um... what's his name? Can you tell him to, like, duck or something so I can-" He was cut off by King landing a blow on the inside of Bao Lin's knee, who crumbled to the injury. "Oh, nevermind." King didn't hesitate to jam the blade of his knife into the other man's exposed neck. A visceral twist ended the conflict.

King limped over to the crew, worse for the wear but still standing. "What now?" He grumbled.

"Oh, um... well..." Francis wasn't sure. His brain told him they needed to clean up the mess, load the cargo back up, and get the hell out of there. But his mouth wasn't so sure. "Captain?" He looked to Charity for her decision.

---

Darius

The heavy space helmet did its work. That is, if its intended purpose was to splatter blood and brains all over Darius and the immediate vicinity. Either way, Yang Gao was dead and the former sheriff was free to go his own way. And he did, towards the commotion on the other side of the ship yard, though not far from where he had killed the pirate. The crowd was thick and full of screams and pushing folks, and while the going was difficult, it went without a hitch. Nobody seemed bothered by the unholy mess covering him, too worried were they for their own safety. He found an overturned cart, it's contents spilled out, and a group of motleys hunkered behind it. Oh, and also the bodies and wounded of a dozen or so men clad similarly to the men he'd seen nearer his parents' house.

Darius had been an alliance man.

And then he'd been a small-town sheriff.

His life had made him cynical and jaded... but that might only be skin deep.

Because in this moment, it was his law and order instincts that kicked in.   There was much more mayhem going on than his private altercation with a revolutionary pirate.  The docks had become a warzone in miniature, and there were innocents huddled here in need of help.

So, without much in the way of thought, or consideration for his own appearance, he paused and nodded to the people huddled behind the overturned cart. 

"Name's Darius.  Retired Lawman.  Let's get you folks out of here.  Is this your wares?"  He introduced himself quickly and asked the question as he tried to right the cart and get the spilled goods back into it. 

For some folk, the goods in a cart were worth as much as their lives.  When your next meal relied on your next sale, even mortal danger didn't warrant running away and leaving your merchandise in the streets.

As he began righting the cart and getting it loaded, he glanced about, looking for any sign of additional danger.

"I'll escort you to safety with your stuff.  Place'll be swarming with police or gangs any minute now.  I don't see any sense in waiting for either eventuality.  Where do you folks call home?"

"Oh, it's not far from here," Francis returned. That did give her some relief. If they could get rid of the rest of these aggressive peons, they could get back on track, deliver these rations to someone more civilized, and then get out of here. This was a mess... A yelp escaped the Lady as the cargo tumbled over, several wrapped packages pouring out into the dirt. That wasn't sanitary...

"Is that drugs? I knew it wasn't just rations!" Pele accused. Charity turned her head to look at her companion and shrugged a little. "It could still be rations! We don't know! I've never seen these before, how do we know they don't put rations in little individually wrapped packages? Maybe that makes it easier for shipping?" she offered, watching the woman get up and move over to their cargo vehicle. She frowned.

With a grunt of effort, the Captain rushed forward to grab at one of the units of cargo before moving to join Pele again. "Where did you get a gun?" she asked incredulously. In no time at all, the rest of the crew converged on her location (save King, who seemed a little busy). She held the 'ration' hard against her chest.

"I don't have a shot. Hey! Um... what's his name? Can you tell him to, like, duck or something so I can- Oh, nevermind."

"What now?" King asked. She looked at the rectangle in her hands, then eyed Francis. This could still be rations... Slowly, Charity pulled back a corner of the wrapping, standing as she did so and moving to stand near King, just in case Francis decided he didn't want her to open the merchandise. "Well, what's next is we get whatever this is to who we're supposed to be meeting. You said it's not far. We need to right all of this mess and then you can lead the way. Also, what is this?" she asked, tilting the partially opened package toward King first and then the rest of the gathered crew. Out of all of them, she only trusted King, and knew he'd have the best insight on what was in the package. Or at least that he'd know what it was (or wasn't) and wouldn't lie to her about it.

---

A couple minutes later, a voice interrupted their meeting and she tipped the opened package back toward herself to hide it from the stranger. "Name's Darius.  Retired Lawman.  Let's get you folks out of here.  Is this your wares?"

Charity paused and turned to stare at the 'retired lawman' now interrupting their...their what? Delivery? Crime? Failure? Then, without asking permission, the man started touching the cargo and putting it back upright before moving the little rectangles back into the containers. She reached out and gently slapped the top of his hand to move it away from the 'rations.'

"I'll escort you to safety with your stuff.  Place'll be swarming with police or gangs any minute now.  I don't see any sense in waiting for either eventuality.  Where do you folks call home?"

Wasn't he presumptuous? She frowned disapprovingly at him and gently moved to guide him away from the now righted cargo loader, a hand settling on her hip. "Why, how forward of you. We haven't even been properly introduced past getting your name, Mister Darius, and I must say that we don't know who you are or who you work for. Thus, it would please me greatly if you would refrain from touching our cargo without the invitation to do so," she admonished.

However, he was right about one thing. The authorities and/or more of the bad guys were sure to be here soon. But...they weren't in the wrong right? They'd been attacked, and had defended themselves. Right? Surely the authorities would be reasonable in a situation like that...right??? Charity looked at King, then Francis, and finally settled her eyes on Cooper. She grimaced. They all looked like deranged blood-covered criminals... Then again, so did this stranger. He happened to also be covered in blood... What was wrong with everyone?

Charity backed away from him a step and raised a brow. "I do thank you for your generous nature, however, I think I will leave the decision up to my 'XO' here," she said, gesturing vaguely in King's direction, although her hand motion could have included Francis if he squinted and side-stepped to the right a bit...

King dropped Bao Lin's lifeless body unceremoniously to the ground, and looked around. Charity and the rest of the crew seemed to be alive and relatively undamaged. He bent down and wiped his knife clean on Bao Lin's shirt, wincing slightly as the bones in his foot grated against each other. Sloppy. Next time, go for the knife first. Or better yet just shoot them before the fight starts. He thought grumpily to himself.

He glanced around briefly for the pieces of his sidearm, saw the frame, but the slide wasn't in immediate view. Not that he'd trust it firing properly again without a thorough cleaning, too much dirt and grit.

He limped his way over to the crew, gritting his teeth with every step. If there was more trouble, that foot was going to slow him down. "What now?" He grumbled.

"Oh, um... well... Captain?"

Charity looked down at the ration pack in her hands and fiddled with it, pulling back a corner of the wrapping, standing as she did so. "Well, what's next is we get whatever this is to who we're supposed to be meeting. You said it's not far. We need to right all of this mess and then you can lead the way. Also, what is this?" she asked, tilting the partially opened package toward King first and then the rest of the gathered crew.

He looked at it and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. Ration pack...? It looked like one, more or less. His scalp itched. Something was off. "Here, let me see tha-" A new voice cut him off, and Charity tipped the opened package back toward herself to hide it.

"Name's Darius.  Retired Lawman.  Let's get you folks out of here.  Is this your wares?"

King eyed the man warily as Darius went about righting the cart and started putting some of the fallen ration packs back inside. Charity reached out and gently slapped the top of his hand to move it away from the rations.

"I'll escort you to safety with your stuff.  Place'll be swarming with police or gangs any minute now.  I don't see any sense in waiting for either eventuality.  Where do you folks call home?" Darius said, glancing around.

"Why, how forward of you. We haven't even been properly introduced past getting your name, Mister Darius, and I must say that we don't know who you are or who you work for. Thus, it would please me greatly if you would refrain from touching our cargo without the invitation to do so," Charity said, then paused a moment before continuing. "I do thank you for your generous nature, however, I think I will leave the decision up to my 'XO' here,"

King looked at Francis, and then back at Charity. "He's right, we should get moving. If its the law, at best they'll detain us for questioning, at worst, and more likely, they'll just arrest us. If its one of the gangs they'll probably just shoot us. Best get our, uh, wares loaded back up and be on our way." He limped over and started loading fallen ration packs, carefully and sneakily slipping one under his jacket. He wanted a look at what exactly it was they were transporting.

There was a final flurry of punches and kicks. A desperate thrust of a blade toward Jedikiah's neck cause him to moved and block the knife. A punch to the side of the head resulted, but a small price to not take the knife. A slight retreat by him and before an attempt to counter the attack it dissipated before the gunfire. They had some time to take stock.

Jedikiah picked up one of the small 4x6x2 packages. The crew was talking about drugs. He took a careful sniff, waffling the air between his nose and a package. Only the smell of the packaging and crate, a thought to break it open turned aside. Time for that later, he figured. Ending the speculation of their cargo wouldn't get them where they needed to be, more so it spark others to make more pressing toward another organized theft.

Following the XO's example he began to help reload the hauler. He called over his his shoulder,
"Does anyone require immediate medical attention?"

Quote from: undefined"Does anyone require immediate medical attention?"

Cooper kept scanning the area for a moment before he responded. He lowered the hammer and pistol, sheathing first the hammer, sliding it onto his tool-belt. He eyed the blood on him but it looked to all be arterial and impact spray from the up close and dirty fighting.

"I'm good."

He ejected the mostly spent magazine from his pistol and pulled another from his tool-belt, and smacked it into place. With a flick he put on the safety and tucked the weapon back into its hiding spot in the small of his back. Whatever this stuff was, it was all over the street. The mechanic wasn't terribly interested in the Maguffin of the day was. He just didn't want to get arrested and DID want to get paid.

Lending a hand, he started loading the cargo back onto the hauler. Though after a moment he realized he was leaving bloody hand prints on each. After wiping his hands on his shirt to his satisfaction, he resumed loading the cargo, but tried to keep his head on a swivel, keeping an eye out for feds or local law enforcement. If they could unload the cargo before anybody came asking the bodies, they could plead both self defense and ignorance of the cargo honestly.

Francis, King, and the Cap were having a jaw about what to do next. Hoping they all agreed on "find the actual buyer real quick like", the spacer turned the hauler back on and checked it was still good to go after getting knocked over. The machine beeped, and a light turned green. He gave the Captain a thumbs up to indicate he was ready to get moving.

And just like that, it was over without Pele having to lift a finger. She was relieved she'd survived the episode in one piece, but as it dawned on her that Charity and her were the only ones who hadn't actually contributed to the fight, another surprising emotion reared its head. She felt... frustrated? irritated? insulted? at the thought of being lumped in with their beautiful little fool of a captain who hadn't even thought to pack a weapon. Two precious damsels protected by the army of men around them, that was them. But why should that offend her? They were lovely birds of a feather, weren't they? Would she rather be one of... them? She glanced at the others, at the blood on their clothes, and perished the thought.

Another blood-splattered individual approach them, an older gentleman announcing himself as a lawman. Pele realized she was still gripping her pistol in one hand. There was no way she'd be able to discreetly shove it back under her dress in the middle of the street, so she settled for placing it inside the clutch hanging over her shoulder. So much for that brilliantly concealed weapon.

There was talk of them continuing on their way to the rendezvous point, and Pele's chest tightened. She'd had quite enough excitement for one day, but of course Charity would want to proceed as if nothing happened. She thought about pulling the captain aside and voicing her concerns, but the frilly woman seemed to be as stubborn as she was naive and had already ignored her wise words once. Instead, Pele turned to Francis -- her one confidant among the crew, God help her -- and leaned in, speaking in a voice low enough for only him to properly pick up. She kept her demeanor casual; to the lawman's eye, it would hopefully appear as though she was merely exchanging an amusing observation with a crewmate.

"Are we sure this wasn't a double-cross?" The breezy smile on her face was contrasted by the unease in her voice. Who knows how low the vermin they were dealing with would stoop? What if there was another gaggle of muggers waiting at Lady Whats-her-face's place?

Staring down at his cortex pad, Francis oriented himself and found the direction they needed to go. Slightly distracted, he seemed surprised at Pele's question. "Um... what? No. I don't think so." He thought about it a bit more and didn't seem so sure. "Probably not."

Once the cargo was safely stowed and injuries attended to by the good doctor, they were able to use the cover of the crowd to disappear back into the Eavesdown Docks. Once away from the scene of their near demise, things quieted down and the docks gave way to commercial areas, which in turn gave way to a row of palatial homes, each grander than the last. The avenue was covered in cobblestone and shaded by old, well manicured poplar trees. It positively reeked of money.

And it was at one of these homes that Francis stopped the convoy. Francis double checked the address they were looking for and matched it to the address listed on the gate. A large sun sigil, formed of wrought iron, hinted that they were at the right place. "I think this is it." He said, pocketing his cortex device and giving everyone a tight smile.

Darius held up a hand when objections came about touching the cargo.

"No offense meant," he said, "I'm not working for anybody.  And I'm not interested in your cargo.  I just don't like to see innocent folk splattered in a gang battle on the docks.  Especially not in the place I was born."

The number and variety of people now assembling here had Darius convinced that this wasn't a local group selling wares and delivering them to a ship.  No... this was a ship's crew, bringing wares down to the planet.  And if he played his cards right, he might be able to leave with them when they took off.

That would save him a considerable amount of trouble with his pirate revolutionary problem.

As such, despite not really being asked, he accompanied them as they brought their wares into the city.  Doubtless they were wary of him.  But nobody had told him to scram, yet, either.  As they walked, he took out a utility wipe- often used to clean smudges from his helmet- and did his best to make himself look less like the culprit at a murder scene.

Their walk took them to a rather ritzy part of town.

When Darius saw the symbol in front of the destination mansion, he had a sinking feeling that more difficulties might be on the horizon.

"You folks know who you're trading with?"




 

"He's right, we should get moving. If its the law, at best they'll detain us for questioning, at worst, and more likely, they'll just arrest us. If its one of the gangs they'll probably just shoot us. Best get our, uh, wares loaded back up and be on our way," King let them know, and she eyed the newcomer with a mild frown before gently putting the ration pack she'd been holding in with the rest of the cargo.

"No offense meant," Darius said, "I'm not working for anybody.  And I'm not interested in your cargo.  I just don't like to see innocent folk splattered in a gang battle on the docks.  Especially not in the place I was born," he explained. No matter, Charity didn't trust him. She'd already met one man who'd insisted he was there for the right reasons and...well... look at what happened there. She looked around at the bodies lying on the ground and pulled her handkerchief back out, resting it beneath her nose to block out the smell (imagined or not.)

"Does anyone require immediate medical attention?" their doctor asked and she looked down at herself. Her wrist was bruised something fierce, and had started turning a nasty purple/yellow combination, but other than that she seemed relatively intact. So, she shook her head in response, finally absorbing what exactly had just happened here.

The loading machine beeped, and a light turned green. The sound drew her attention in the mechanic's direction and when Cooper gave the Captain a thumbs up to indicate he was ready to get moving, she lowered the handkerchief from her face to offer him a thankful smile. She'd need to thank him for his protection once they were able to speak properly and at a longer length than the current situation allowed.

---

As they moved on, she could feel the tenseness leaving her shoulders and a large sigh relaxed her face. Their environment slowly became something more akin to what she was used to, and her hands absently moved to brush any dust or poverty off of the front of her gown. "Do I look alright?" she asked King in a low whisper, a blush creeping across her cheeks that she'd asked such a vapid question at a time like this. Still, she knew how important appearances were, especially in this kind of situation, and if she showed up to Lady Sun's estate looking like a vagabond, she was sure there would be some kind of trouble.

"I think this is it," Francis announced, the group standing in front of an elaborate iron gate. She smiled to herself. Finally, they would be able to unload this cargo, could get back to their ship, and get off of this barely civilized planet. Again, she looked up at King and her brows furrowed. She'd need to ask him his opinion on this whole matter. She might have bitten off more than she could chew...

"You folks know who you're trading with?" the lawman asked, and Charity eyed him dubiously. She hadn't exactly noticed that he'd followed them, which didn't speak too well on her skills of observation in dangerous situations. "Yes," she answered curtly, putting her handkerchief back into the pocket of her dress and turning to look at the crew. A dissatisfied little noise slipped past her defenses. They looked wild. She set to the task of straightening Francis' hair, brushing dirt and other unmentionables off Cooper with her handkerchief and the tip of her fan, straightening the front of Jed's outfit. She paused when she reached Pele, hands hovering a foot or so from her. Then, they lowered and she smiled. At least this member of their crew still looked impeccable. Lastly, she turned to King, brushing his torso off and looking down at his foot apologetically. Nothing she could do about that, not right now. "All right," she murmured to herself before pressing the call button by the gate.

Jedikiah had seen worse in his many years, but not recently. The savage attack was pretty unprecedented in his experience. Locals usually didn't like that sort of thing, violence in their streets. Unlike the thoughts of those in the Core, local warlords no longer ran roughshod, at least not for long, out in the border and rim worlds.

Too many people had fought in the war. Too many veterans weren't about to let some hooligan, local or not, make trouble in one's own home town. People had experience in fighting, and thanks to most everyone taking home their big powerful war guns, they were well armed.

So discerning certainly.

His thoughts as to what he was now peripherally involved in, at the very least, moved about in no particular path to a conclusion. So he made a little small talk as they walked.

"Darius? Lawman you said? Anyplace you might have worked for long period of time? I've been here and there. Federal or Local?" He looked at the man kindly. The man seemed experienced, hard; and yet he was following a little like a lost old dog that knew a pack of other jack-a-bouts might be a good place to linger."

 - - -

At the address Jedikiah considered offering that he stay outside. The least he consciously knew about their mission and their wares meant he would not have to move on. There was still a limit to how nefarious he would allow his own participation.

And then Captain Charity set to the task of straightening her crew for proper presentation including his own outfit.
'Delightful.' he thought. He couldn't miss the next scene in this.

"Thank you Miss." and then added. "Captain." He smiled broad and eager.

His hand held out a small tube of a topical pain gel, for her wrist if she so desired.