Luck of the Draw [Roger, Elysium]

[Tristram Kelly]

Ah, it was good to be planetside again. Being a hayseed from some backwater moon, Tristram didn't like being cooped up on board a ship for too long of a stretch. Besides, if he was stuck on the ship, he wasn't making money. So Tris began his day as he would any other. After dragging himself out of bed, he took the pain pills he had set out the night before, undressed, wrapped his towel around his waist, and headed to the communal bathroom. He waved at Jericho as she unexpectedly appeared through the cargo bay door, smirking as she turned a vibrant red and bolted up the stairs. After a cold shower he enjoyed a quick breakfast with Jeri, who deliberately avoided eye contact until he addressed her directly.

"Everyone else is gonna be working on that salvage today. If you didn't want to hang around the ship all day, you're more than welcome to come along to town."

Tris was actually a little surprised at her acceptance of his offer. After a quick stop by his room to grab his guns, the odd pair made for the cargo bay.

As he approached his old bike, he saw a paper bag sitting on the seat. Written on it in what was unmistakably Jericho's hand was "Good Luck", followed by a rather large amount of exclamation points. He opened the bad to see about a dozen or so cookies. He smiled to himself. He was definitely going to enjoy these.

"Thanks, kid."

He placed the cookies in his saddlebag, walked the bike over to the cargo bay door and opened the ramp. Tris straddled the machine. Once he felt Jeri's tiny arms wrap around his midsection, he kicked once...

Twice...

On the third kick, the engine roared to life.
"Hold on tight."

Tristram tore down the ramp and sped toward town. After a much shorter ride than he should have had because of the distance between town and Elysium, Tris coasted up to what looked like a combination inn/tavern/brothel(?). It was certainly a lively place, and even though it was still relatively early, the booze was already flowing strong. Perfect. Tris, with Jeri in tow, made his way to the bar, purchased a bottle of mediocre bourbon, and walked over to the card game he had spotted in the corner. After watching a few hands and learning a few of the players' tells, he made his approach.

"Hey fellas, what's the buy in for your game here?"

[Roger Davis]

The Blue Sun System is not exactly the kind of place Roger ever imagined himself to be, except perhaps as a brief tourist to the far reaches of the 'Verse. Blue Sun was literally the opposite side of known space from Kalidasa and home, as far away as you could possibly get. We're talking tens of billions of miles away.

Blue Sun is also kind of a piece of shit. Certainly some people say the same about Kalidasa, but Blue Sun is REALLY out there and extremely sparsely populated. Kalidasa is rural farm country. Blue Sun is just desolate. Deadwood was about as good as it got, unless you included places like Meridan that were controlled by the Blue Sun Corporation, and Roger didn't count them. There were some people around (if you considered 1 person per 80,000 acres as "some") and it had that rustic sort of flavor you found most places outside the Core, even if it was perhaps a little more rustic than most.

At least Deadwood checked all the boxes you needed for basic civilization. There was local law enforcement, doctors and schools existed even if there were no hospitals and universities, and people ate something that resembled food. Most folks still had most of their teeth, and you could book fairly regular passage off-world.

Roger found himself way out here in the sticks through a series of events related to his old buddy Michael Harper who was running some sort of scheme. Harper had been captaining a ship of his since getting out of the service in '79, doing odd jobs and the like that so many independent captains do to stay flying. Well, Harper'd come up with a new job which involved some serious cargo, the kind of cargo that involves a second ship loaded to the brim. Now, Harper didn't need permanent crew for his ship, but he needed some temporary hands to move the big freighter. Roger was a pilot who could also kill a pirate or two, so the old buddies hooked up for the job, simple enough.

The plan was fly the freighter out to Blue Sun, hand it over to the contact, get paid, and then find your own way back to wherever the hell you were going. It kind of sucked, but it's not like there'd been any permanence to the position nor did it make sense for Harper to be gentlemanly and go two weeks out of his way to fly Roger back home or something like that.

So until a favorable offer or a ship headed in the right direction for the right price came along, that's where Roger sat on Deadwood. As mentioned, Verbena was far superior to this backwater, but Roger wasn't averse to such places. He also had a pile of newly earned plat, and cash seemed to stretch a little further the more backwater you got. (Relevant.)

Unfortunately, out here there were precious few ways to entertain yourself. You could blow shit up, you could get blackout drunk, or you could gamble. Doing two of those three was acceptable, but doing all three was ill advised.

That morning saw Roger in the saloon of the local hotel where he was currently lodging. Well, maybe that was a little too high class of a description. It would be better to call it the bar of the local inn. It was too early to start drinking, although that hadn't stopped any of the other early bird patrons from partaking. Roger was just there to pass the time over a friendly game of cards... and then maybe start drinking after that.

Now, playing cards for a prolonged period of time in a rural bar was about as dangerous as running across an open field under machine-gun fire, so of course Roger was packing heat. Hat and jacket had been tossed aside on a nearby empty table due to the heat of the day which revealed the obvious shoulder holster which complemented the not so obvious thigh holster under the table.

The small group had been at it for maybe an hour that morning when approached by a new comer who'd taken his time, stopping at the bar first. "Hey fellas, what's the buy in for your game here?" the kid asked. He was no kid, certainly, but after fighting through a war suddenly anyone who seems more than two years younger than you becomes "kid".

"The game is New Hope Hold 'em." Roger replied, not that he expected it to be necessary. The kid had eyes and likely wouldn't have asked to join in if he didn't already know. "Small blind is 1 plat, big blind is 2. Minimum buy in is 10." Roger looked to the empty chair and then up at the newcomer, "You in?"

[Jericho Montgomery]

Jericho had planned a pretty easy day for herself. Everyone was on the job, save for Tris really, so cooking would take very little time. She hoped the others would be back by dinner time, but you never really knew. She had, however, backed a sizable amount of cookies for their passenger as she knew he would probably head into town for now. He seemed to do that often. Jeri, however, never really left the ship. She had always been too young, or too frightened to do so. The outside world had been unkind to the Montgomery family so she thought it best to simply avoid being on the ground for too long. Being in the black was her preference. They didn't have to worry about too many threats to their safety, which mean Jeri didn't have to worry about whether she needed to pull the trigger or not.

She'd like to keep it that way.

Jericho sneaked into the Cargo Hold, knowing Tris wouldn't be up just yet. She placed the bag of cookies on the back of his bike, smiling at her handiwork. If there was one thing she loved it was keeping her crew happy. They were just as much her crew as they were Sids. She may not have any real pull, but she took care of them as best she could. The young woman snuck back out of the cargo hold, blinking away her shock as her eyes met Tris... After they roamed over a bare chest. Her cheeks turned a vibrant red as her crew was usually about 90% female. Bras, undies, and all kinds of feminine hygiene products... BUT A HALF NAKED MAN? No. This was not something she saw everyday. She blinked away the shock, ignoring the cheeky grin Tris was sure to have on his face, before bolting up the stairs like a bat out of hell.

She say in dead silence as she ate away at the breakfast she had prepared for the both of them. The rest of the crew had eaten bright an early, but Jericho had been too busy cooking to really sit down and partake. She was taking a bit of bacon when Tris strolled in and took a seat. She already had his plate at the table and he seemed to dig right in. Which was good, because Jericho was definitely not in a chatty mood. Mostly because now everytime she looked at him she could see him shirtless. Odd. That would go away right? She mentally shook her head, pulling herself to reality when Tris spoke.

Confusion spread over her pale features, "Ah'm sorry, what?" She chimed, her brow furrowing. "Oh! Yeah! Ah don't usually go into town, but Sid didn't give me a time frame. Ah don't even know when Ah should start dinner." She pouted to herself, not enjoying that little piece of information. Scheduling was important when it came to meals, at least to Montgomery. Either way she was going to be brave. She was going to go into town like a real adult.

I am an adult. I am an adult.

Tris headed for his room to grab whatever it was he needed and Jeri quickly threw on clothes she thought might help her fit in. It probably wouldn't, she was much too.... clean? Pristine? Shiny? Either way she felt like she looked kinda like the other women aboard the Elysium. That was close enough. They seemed to fit in just fine. Shyly Jeri made her way to Cargo with Tris, smiling brightly at the thank you. She didn't even flick his ear for calling her kid. She was much too interested in what was in store for them. He straddled his bike and Jericho gingerly put herself aboard the machine. She assumed his waist was where her arms went, seeing as there weren't straps of any kind on this kind of go-go-gadget. She placed her arms there as his bike roared to life and she jumped just a tad, not expecting the rumbling beneath her.

Hold on tight?

They sped down the ramp and Jericho's grip tightened as she understood his meaning. He was practically flying this two wheeled monster. However Jericho, to many peoples surprise, was a bit of an adrenaline junkie. She wanted to fly above the clouds and into the black so this? This was magic to her. A wide grin spread across her face and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped. Bravely, Jericho spread her arms out to feel the wind before quickly grabbing his waist again so she wouldn't be whipped off with the wind. When they finally stopped Jericho was practically drunk with happiness. "Again!" She hollered through a laugh, her hair a wild mess. But Tris had other goals today, heading towards what Jeri could only assume was an inn. Maybe? 

Upon entering she shooed Tris off, telling him to do as he normally did. She was a big girl and felt like she could take care of herself. Besides, they were in the same room all she needed to do was holler. So, putting on a "grown" face, Jeri sat herself at the bar. She tentatively ordered a drink, not even knowing what was in it, but it sounded nice. The patrons were sloshed, already, but she nervously eyed the room. Tris seemed interested in cards and from the bar she watched. Sipping her drink from time to time and making a sour face as she did it. Why did people drink this junk? She had wine with her mother back home, but that was really it. This wasn't sweet like that stuff. This was bitter, and made her throat burn and her stomach twist. Didn't take much at all to make her feel warm and fuzzy. Not drunk, but definitely fuzzy. 

"Hey there little lady. You lookin for company?" A patron slurred, taking the seat next to her and leaning closer. Jeri leaned backwards, confusion spreading over her face. "Ah'm fine, love. Came with mah friend." She said sweetly, probably nicer than any person this man had ever met. He seemed to think that was as good as a yes as he moved closer, one hand coming to rest on her jeans. He dug a finger in, pulling at the ripped portion. Jeri batted his hand away politely, "S'cuse you, hun. Y'best be move'n along." She said politely, though he didn't even seem to hear her. She started to panic a little, realizing he was much much larger than she. But she had a knife on her. She could handle this... right? 

"Whatchu mean, beautiful, you been eye'n me since you come in." He slurred, leaning closer to bark in her ear. Jeri tentatively placed hand on his chest, preparing to try and shove as much as she could. "No, no. Ah'm just observin." She said with a shy smile, gritting her teeth as her other hand reached for her blade. She glanced at Tris, trying to decide if she should call for help. Lord knows if anything happens here and now Sid will have his head on a plate.

[Tristram Kelly]

Tris sat down in the empty chair by the man who had answered him and posted up the plat to buy in.

"Deal me in, gents."

The group played for the better part of a half hour, and Tris was slowly making a decent profit. He tended to play less aggressively in low stakes games like this, where the players were more interested in passing the time and enjoying the game. They played for entertainment, and so long as they kept giving him their money, Tris was happy to oblige. They shared jokes and tales and drinks, and even the professional gambler found himself just genuinely enjoying the game and the company. He looked down at a peach of a hand, and he all buy had it won. That was also when he noticed Jeri at the bar being harassed by some hick with half his teeth. She was fine, right? Besides, this hand was a sure thing. She could at least wait a little bit, right. It came time for Tris to post his bet, and he could see that the situation at the bar wasn't going to get better any time soon. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Damn.

"I fold," he said, placing his amazing hand face down on the table. Without bothering to collect his winnings, he walked over to the bar where Jeri was sitting.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He positioned himself between Jericho and her would be suitor, subtly placing his hand over a heavy glass ashtray as he did.

"I believe you're bothering my friend here."

The bleary eyed man looked at the newcomer with a sneer.

"Beat it, runt. Me 'n the little lady's git'n on just fine."

The man went to push past Tris, his lecherous gaze once again falling on little Jeri.

Tristram gripped the ashtray in his palm.

"Fine," he said, putting his hands up in surrender. "Have it your way, then."

With a resounding crack, he brought the ashtray down into the side of the drunk's head, sending him sprawling to the floor. He turned to Jeri.

"Sorry about that. Are you al-..."

*click*

The gambler was cut off by the sound of a hammer being cocked back.

"-right?"

[Roger Davis]

The newcomer joined in as expected, and the game progressed with one additional player. The stakes were low enough that even if someone got trounced in one particular hand, it wasn't worth it to get angry, not that there even seemed to be any such trouncings going on. They were all just having a good time, enjoying the game and the camaraderie, which was precisely what Roger was seeking.

The trouble ended up coming not from the card game but from elsewhere in the bar. One of the inebriated locals had begun to make moves on a young girl on the other side of the room. Roger'd been aware of what was happening, but he wasn't really paying attention as he didn't know the girl. She was young, but she was grown and could probably take care of herself. If not, well things hadn't escalated far enough for a random stranger to get involved.

The same couldn't be said for their newcomer though, whether he knew the girl or was just the white knight type. After a few glances over toward what was going on, he then abruptly folded and got up to intervene. The hand continued, but sluggishly as Roger and the others now had one eye on what was developing. This little altercation would likely turn out to be far more entertaining than the river.

The kid inserted himself between the drunk and the girl and politely suggested that the drunk leave which of course didn't work. That first and only attempt at a diplomatic solution led to a quick crack to the head and a heavy thud as the drunk went down from the blow. Roger sat up a little straighter in his chair, a bit surprised just how quickly things had turned violent, and certain that this confrontation had not ended.

As expected,things were not over. The drunk was surprisingly quick to his feet. The blow had apparently been enough to knock him off his feet, but it wasn't nearly enough to keep him down. Drunken lust turned to drunken rage as the man drew iron and took aim at the kid's back. "Nee Tzao Se Mah?"

"Jao Gao." Roger muttered before drawing and standing in one fluid motion. "Go Hwong Tong." The gleaming semi-automatic was trained on the drunk's head.

The drunk glanced back at the new threat and barked, "Gwon Ni Tze Jee Duh Shr." before returning front to the focus of his anger.

Like that little instruction was going to be heeded by Roger. "Kwai Jio Kai." he said, stepping around the table and closing the gap. "Ma Shong." Whatever was going to happen here today, no one was going to be getting shot in the back... at least unless that person hadn't already shot an unarmed man in the back first. Frontier justice was flexible.




Nee Tzao Se Mah? - You wanna die?
Jao Gao - What a mess
Go Hwong Tong - Enough of this nonsense
Gwon Ni Tze Jee Duh Shr - Mind your own business
Kwai Jio Kai - Get Lost
Ma Shong - Now

[Jericho Montgomery]

Jeri's small hand gripped one of the two knives she carried on her person at all times. She was a pacifist by nature, and absolutely did not want to kill anyone.... However, her self-preservation was far more important. Who in the Verse would look after Sid? The small girl primed herself, taking in a deep breath. Maybe if she just cut him a little he'd leave her alone. She, personally, wouldn't want to deal with anyone who had cut her on purpose. Then again, Jeri wasn't cut from the same cloth as most of the folk in this establishment. In fact, she doubted if she had anything in common with any of them other than their need for food and water. And Oxygen, but that's a given. 

The would-be suitor was pushing his luck, his hand moving closer and closer to areas that ought to be touched with a ladies permission. Her fist tightened around the blade and Jeri clenched her teeth, though her voice was still polite. "Really, sug, Ah ain't here for yer kind of fun." Not that she really understood what kind of fun he wanted. All she knew is it made her feel dirty. She needed a hot shower already, maybe it was the drink talking. She certainly hadn't chugged the nasty liquid, but she hadn't been afraid to take a few large swigs. Be that as it may she felt... odd. Jeri tried to scoot her stool just a bit further from the patron as Tris seemed to simply appear. She straightened her back, thinking she would chew him out. She was a big girl. She could take care of her self. Jeri downed the rest of her drink, cringing from the horrid taste and the wicked burn that followed. If he wanted to play white knight fine, but she wasn't going to be a damsel.

She frowned, opening her mouth to let him have it up until Tris suggested this was none of his concern. A pang of fear tinged her bright eyes and she had a lapse in bravery. What if she couldn't take care of herself? She had killed once before and to this day she still had night terrors about taking a life. Even a bad one. She hadn't planned on this kind of attention when she agreed to accompany Tris. Jeri just wanted to see the world. See the life she had missed.... Perhaps she hadn't missed too much. "But..."

And then things escalated. 

Muuuuuuuuuuuuch faster than her fuzzy eyed vision could follow. All she knew is Tris had cracked that son of a bitch over the head with an ashtray and he hit the ground. Jeri blinked a few times trying to process what the heck had just happened. Her knife was already drawn, nearly at Tris' throat as she had planned on making a clear threat to her perpetrator. But that had ended all too quickly. Jeri stood, much faster than she should have, and the room swayed a little. Oh wow, this stuff is much more potent than her mothers wine cache. She focused on Tris' words for a moment, her eyes closing as she heard the hammer being cocked back. That was something she knew well. Very well. Too well. Whether it be memories of her uncle and father, or of Sid himself. 

Panic. It flooded through her overstimulated system like wildfire. Tris was going to get shot! He was going to be shot all because she had decided to go outside and play. Currently her cozy kitchen was looking mighty shiny. Of course, to make matters worse, everyone starts hollering in Chinese. The good Lord knew she hadn't even brushed up on her Chinese since she was with her mother. Jeri cocked her head at the stranger staring at him in confusion as he and the gun toting asshole exchanged threats, she thought.

They were either threats, or the two of them were reciting a Haiku. But her money was on threats....

"Would yews two cut it with the ching chong and speak plain?" She barked, finally removing the tip of her dagger from Tris' throat with a blush. "Oh.... whoopsie." She blurted, half giggling as the rest of the drink hit her.

Hard.

"Yew two gone kissssss?" She hissed, like a snake, before trying to sit back on her stool and failing. Her rump missed and she planted herself on the floor. "Guess Ah'm already ready fer the gunfight. On the - floor." She hiccuped, frowning and looking up at Tris. "Ah don' like this stuff." Jeri whispered, poorly, while pointing at her now empty glass. "Tastes funny...... HEY. Is this tipsy? See," She barked from her place on the floor as she jabbed at Tris' leg. "Toldja Ah'm an adult. Got tipsy all on mah own."

[Tristram Kelly]

Well, this was a bit of a pickle.


Of course, Tristram was all too aware that the rapid escalation of events was entirely his doing. That was kind of his approach to pretty much everything. It was either all in or nothing at all. Hell, the only time he really showed any kind of restraint or forethought was at the poker table, and that’s just because he really didn’t like going hungry. There had been a flurry of commotion after his less than diplomatic intervention which included the drunk threatening him, his poker pal threatening Drunky, and Jeri… holding a knife to his throat? Okay, that was obviously a mistake. Judging by the way the girl was acting, if Tris was a betting man (and we all know he is), he’d wager a guess that she wasn’t used to the stronger spirits. Her quick reposition to the floor after such a short time at the joint strengthened his suspicions.


"Toldja Ah'm an adult. Got tipsy all on mah own.”


Tris shot a smile at the girl.


”You sure did.”


A quick glance around the room told him that the man he had assaulted wasn’t alone, as he saw several men with their hands on their guns paying heavy attention to the rugged stranger holding the drunk at gunpoint. Furthermore, the men they had been playing cards with seemed to be posturing to back up their gambling buddy. There was only one way Tristram could see that both gave him a good chance at not getting a new hole put in him and keeping the bar from becoming a shooting gallery.


Turning his attention to Drunky, he slowly raised his hands as he spoke.


”Look around, friend. You pull that trigger, and you, me, and a whole mess o’ people are gonna die. Ain’t no call for that kind of violence. What say we all calm down, holster those pieces, an’ you and me go outside. We can settle this, just the two of us. I’m the one you have a quarrel with, so let’s just square it right now, Dohn-ma?”


The gambler locked eyes with Drunky and extended a hand. The vein in the drunk man’s head throbbed, but after several long moments of consideration, he accepted Tristram’s challenge. He holstered his weapon, and the tension in the room lessened slightly.


“Hope yer right with God, boy, ‘cuz I’m gonna send you straight to Hell.”


Tris just raised an eyebrow.


”You’re a daisy if you do.”


The young man walked out through the swinging doors of the saloon to take his place. As the reality of what had just happened set in, patrons scurried outside to get a good view of the approaching showdown. Drunky made his way into the middle of the dusty street about twenty paces or so from where Tristram was standing, his right shoulder quartered toward his opponent. The two men stood staring at each other in the hot, still air. The town clock ticked…


*TICK*


*TICK*


*TICK*


*TICK*


*TICK*


Biting his lip in his concentration, Tris smirked at Drunky.


”Say when.”


That was all it took. Drunky’s nostrils flared in rage and his hand sped toward the butt of his gun, but to Tris it all appeared to be in slow motion as his grip tightened around his own revolver. Before Drunky had even cleared his holster, Tristram had his revolver fully drawn and leveled. Drunky froze mid draw as he realized that he had lost.


”No need for this to go any further. We can both walk away from here today. Just stay away from my friend.”


He lowered his gun, hoping that his opponent would cede the duel and suffer nothing more than wounded pride. Unfortunately, it seemed that reason was not Drunky’s strongest asset. As Tristram was returning his revolver to it’s holster, he saw Drunky continue his drawing action. The young gambler’s arm whipped back around, and the revolver jumped in his hand as the bullet found it’s mark. Drunky stood with his gun fully drawn and halfway to level, staring down at the growing crimson stain on the lower left part of his chest. The pistol clattered upon the ground and he fell, blood burbling between his lips from a perforated lung.
Tris looked to the men who had been backing the now bleeding man up inside.

”If you get him to a doctor real quick like, he might live. I suggest you get to it.”


Drunky’s friends scrambled to help their fallen comrade. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to catch a bullet in the back, Tris made his way back into the saloon.


”Alright, everyone. This round is on me!”


He nodded toward his rugged savior.

"And you don't pay for another drink today."

[Roger Davis]

Things escalated before calming down slightly. After Roger drew, the girl pulled a push dagger and surprisingly held it not to the drunk but to the young gambler who'd come to her aid. Fortunately (?) she then began speaking gibberish and slipped down to the floor in an inebriated heap where she was no longer a threat.

However, as she went down it seemed like much of the rest of the bar was beginning to start picking sides should lead start flying. Roger had been there a few days and wasn't exactly a stranger blown in off the street, but he was no local either. These men were as likely to blow him away as they were to watch his back, if not more likely.

Either in an act of genius or an act of nobility, the gambler challenged the man to a duel rather than have the entire place shot up. After a tense moment the drunk accepted, and of course he did. Maybe his side would win, but there was no way Roger wouldn't give the bar a new coat of red paint first.

Roger cautiously holstered as the group began to shuffle out to the street for the upcoming entertainment. As the seconds ticked away, Roger watched from the bar threshold. The drunk finally moved, but the kid was fast... damn fast. He had the man easily beat, but in an act of mercy, he holstered and gave the drunk his life back.

Unfortunately drunken rage typically doesn't take mercy well. The drunk tried to finish drawing his pistol, but there was no second chance. The young gambler was just as fast as before. In a flash his gun was out, discharged, and back down. His bullet had expertly found its mark.

The gambler walked away, giving another chance at mercy should his opponent receive miraculous medical treatment. When Roger was reasonably certain there weren't going to be any new challengers shooting the kid in the back, he too turned and walked back inside.

At the offer of drinks, Roger gave the kid a nod and then sat back at the table. He probably wasn't going to get much value from that drink offer, but it's not like he'd stood up to fight thinking about monetary reward. "Much obliged."