Nothing Personal Main RP

Community Role Playing
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Strolus IV: a nuclear wasteland of deserts, snowed over cities, and shantytowns. A government struggling to maintain peace, rebels fighting for freedom, mercenaries looking for quick cash, archaeologists looking for ancient treasure, and moralists and idealists of all kinds. In the middle of that, seven mercenaries from all walks of life, all with different goals, but with one thing in common. They’re good at what they do.

JimmyBob’s Bar, a run-down dive operating out the back of an old bakery. The ovens are still there, but they certainly don’t look serviceable. JimmyBob’s is in the Old City, where the Unified People’s Republic doesn’t patrol anymore. The city is too cold and old to bother repairing, but it’s made itself into a sizable shantytown full of people who don’t want the government involved in their affairs and old folks too stubborn to move out of their bombed-out homes. The street markets are dirty and full of beggars, but it’s how people survive out here. The New City isn’t much better, granted, but the Unified People’s Republic at least has curfews and regulations to make it look a bit cleaner, but it’s still just as poor and run-down if you look beyond the surface.

Due to the location of JimmyBob’s, it’s become a haven for mercenaries, who want the freedom to work for whoever they want to. The back room of JimmyBob’s serves as a safe, and more importantly, private, place to do business. The local populace there doesn’t mind the offworlders, likely due to being numbed down after two decades of guns-for-hire coming and going from the Old City. Our seven heroes, well, protagonists, find themselves entering the bar, each to meet with different contact. None of them think much about running into each other at this joint, as none of them have ever met before. Despite that, they enter the bar at a similar time. It’s a bit slow at JimmyBob’s this time of day, just two drakons in the back playing cards, a human having a drink by himself at the bar, and the short-handed staff. As the seven mercenaries enter, they are ignored, no one in the bar so much as turning to look their way.

Now, they each decide what to do before trying to find their contacts.

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Tarev- well well well, I hope that this doesn’t end up a giant waste of my, and if it is hell will freeze over before I’ll stop torturing every last inhabitant of this god forsaken world

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Daruth walked through the doors of the bar looking for his contact, with a large grin under his helmet.

Ooc: is it okay if he has a helmet?

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OOC: You can look however you want. I personally think a mercenary carrying as much gear as yourself would wear a helmet.

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Daruth walked over to the Bartender and asked if he had seen a relic hunters in here.

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Normek hears one guy go up to the bartender and ask about Relic hunters. He eavesdrops some more.

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The bartender is a weathered, old human who had the gaze of someone who had been through more than most. He was cleaning out glasses with a rag that looked like he might be better off cleaning the glass with his ■■■■■.

Actually, now that you take a look at his ■■■■■, you see it’s covered in reddish-brown stains. It’s likely not barbecue sauce.

He looks up at you and grunts before talking.
“Yer in tha wrong place if yer lookin’ fer Relic Hunters. Them folks stay in the New City. 'Sides, s’best not ta talk 'bout those people here.”
He goes back to his duties, cleaning the glasses.
“How 'boutcha sit down. Have a drink.”

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Occ: Do we have any money to buy drinks with?

“Sure I’ll have the strongest drink you”

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“Ale.”

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"Ya don’ want tha strongest we have, unless yer lookin’ ta kill someone. Only drink 'round here s’not radioactive is kerd root ale.

Clearly yer new, so the drinks’re free. A piece’ve advice, though: askin’ fer people directly is a quick way ta get shot. If ya wanna find them Relic Hunters, I suggest you be more… subtle."

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Martin entered the bar trough the relatively normal-looking door.

Well that was a little disappointing. he thought, I was expecting one of those double-shutter setups like they got in the movies.

He looked around the bar, searching for a table that was far enough from a window to shroud his somewhat distinctive armor from prying eyes, but still afforded a view of the outside world that was sufficient for spotting potential ne’er-do-wells.

Having found one such table (a particularly banged-up piece of lumber that looked like it was more glue-and-nails-and-duct-tape than wood) in the North-East corner, he sat down in a chair that looked like it was about to collapse under its own weight and awaited his contact’s arrival.

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“Thanks I love free drinks, and thanks for the advice as well.”

Daruth would love it if a bar fight Happened. But he wasn’t going to start one.

He found a table to sit at. And keep to himself.

Occ I need to work in about 18 minutes.

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OOC: Don’t worry, my job is to make sure the plot doesn’t advance too far if not everyone is here.

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Tarev goes to the bartender- give me your most radioactive drink available.

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OOC: I see what you did there with T-R3V, very clever.

IC: The bartender looks at the sentient questioningly.
“Ta be fair, I’ve ne’er had a tincan ask me fer a drink befo’. ‘Fraid we don’ stock much otha than ale. You chromeskins don’ usually come in here fer anythin’ but work.”

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OOC: consider tarev a nickname used by himself
Ic: well you’ve probably never delt with one as unstable as myself, anyway considering we can skip the drinks now business I was contacted by the renegades about causing chaos so do you know where to find them or will I have to kill you- tarev grabs the bartender by the caller

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The bartender is clearly unfazed by this show of force.
“Did’ja read the sign out front? It says JimmyBob’s. Guess who yer talkin’ to? Now you can either sit down and conduct yer business like a professional, or you can get the chot outta my bar.”

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Tarev pulls his pistol- did I mention that I’m insane?

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“I gave you yer two options. I recommend you pick one.” JimmyBob responds. The man is not intimidated, and has obviously dealt with things far worse than psychotic sentients.
“Now.”

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Tarev shoots the bartender in the knee- now will you answer my question? Or will I have to take something else? One more thing I’ve rigged this place to blow if anyone kills me.
OOC: this is a bluff but everyone else doesn’t know that

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