Post by cheminhaler on Jun 29, 2011 13:47:09 GMT -5
*Warning! Violence, death, lho-sticks, spiders, aliens and violent gangers. If your sprog is reading this then they need to be kept on a leash!*
The man in the dark suit was seated at a large scutwood table - imported from off-world. He was of average height, lean and well dressed in the latest Trafalgar Cit fashion, with golden cuff links and purple dyed hair. Tentacle tattoos covered his face. He looked angry. His name was Alonso.
"What do you mean?", asked Alonso distressedly, as he stood up and paced around the spacious pre-fab lux-apt habitation office. The room was lavishly decorated. It looked like Prince Dungenberg the Seventy-fourth's harem. Behind Alonso a platinum plated boltgun was firmly attatched to the wall.
The two men he was talking to were dressed in long winter rain-coats, with their hoods pulled down. The first one - Dreyfuss - was shorter, with a shaved scalp, and the ganger affiliation tattoo tentacles on his forehead identified him as a lowly enforcer, beholden to the Onner's crime syndicate. Mikels, the second enforcer, looked nervously at his feet. Mikels was tall - over seven feet. Almost as tall as the Adeptus Astartes of legend, only thin, with a wispy moustache and lank, greasy hair tied loosely back in a pitiful ponytail. His mirrored photo visor reflected the harsh, glaring spot-light shining into their faces. Mikels had no tattoos at all on his face, unlike the others.
"The.... the shipment, boss..", ventured Dreyfuss sheepishly.
"What about the shipment?", inquired Alonso, loudly. He sat back on his hovering anti-grav chair. It was silver, with red and green blinking lights. It was a tech-relic, and as such was worth a collossal amount of credits. Thirteen million credits to be precise.
"It... it was contaminated.", chirped Dreyfuss. He seemed to be developing a nervous twitch.
There was a long pause. The great-grandmother clock ticked away menacingly in the corner. Dreyfuss counted seven seconds silently in his mind. Suddenly Alonso clasped his hands together and looked directly at Dreyfuss for the first time since he had entered the room, five minutes beforehand. The harsh glare of the spotlight on the polished scutwood table dazzled Dreyfuss's rugged red eyes. He was perpiring and breathing heavily.
"Look, boss...", hazarded Mikels, in his typical high-pitched voice.
"Shut up, Mikels! You son of a Scavvy!", bellowed Alonso suddenly. Mikels squirmed visibly, and resumed watching his toes intently.
"It was the Offer's, boss. I'm sure of it.", intervened Dreyfuss. Alonso's piercing look passed from Mikels onto Dreyfuss.
"How can you be sure?", asked Alonso.
"The bugs were in the shipment, boss.", explained Dreyfuss.
"Bugs?", yelled Alonso, so loudly that Dreyfuss' eardrums nearly burst. He could feel his ears ringing. The boss must have some kind of voice-boosting technology, mused Dreyfuss absently, as he tried to focus back onto the here and now.
"They were in the shipment before we got it, boss.", protested Dreyfuss disarmingly.
Alonso's face was going purple, much like his hair.
"Then why didn't you check the shipment?", screamed Alonso, jumping up out of his expensive anti-grav couch and physically launching himself at his henchman.
Dreyfuss did nothing as Alonso crashed down on top of him and slammed his fist into his nose sharply. He thought he felt some bones breaking in his ribs, and his nose was bent out of shape and bleeding. Squirming he got to his feet.
"Why didn't you check the shipment?", repeated Alonso, agitatedly.
"We did, boss!", said Mikels, glancing over at Alonso, who met his mirror visored eyes with a look of pure venom.
"If you checked it so thoroughly, Mr. Scavvy, then how did they get surveillance in it, you fool!", scolded Alonso, dusting his pinstripe twist trousers off.
"No. Not surveillance! Bugs! Spiders! Sump spiders, big fat bloaters some of the hairy blighters. Me and Mikels left Carruthers and McDaniels back with the shipment, and came to tell you straight away, boss!", bleated Dreyfuss, defensively.
"Spiders?", yelled Alonso, almost laughing out loud at the sheer madness of what Dreyfuss was implying.
"Spiders.. in the lho?", repeated Alonso. He was getting more stressed, and this was bad for his health and the health of those around him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature stimulant inhaler, which he stuck up his left nostril, depressing the button at the bottom. Chemical relaxants jetted up his nose, and his shoulders slumped. He turned away from them and went back to his couch.
Dreyfuss and Mikels shared an anxious look before Alonso turned back towards them. They both knew their lives were in danger now. Alonso's moodswings were the stuff of legend amongst the Onner crime families.
Alonso picked up a small personal vox communication unit, and activated the seventeen digit number of the storage apartment on Hogton Uptown Parade. Dreyfuss could almost hear the vox unit ringing on the other end. McDaniels and Carruthers were taking their time picking it up.
The stressed purple hue was returning to Alonso's face as the vox unit rang repeatedly, whilst nobody answered. Finally after Dreyfuss counted five full minutes, silently in his mind, by the ticking of the antique, wooden great-grandmother chronometer in the corner, Alonso took the vox unit off his ear and deactivated it.
"No answer.", he said quietly, almost to himself.
"We should go back to Hogton.", began Dreyfuss.
Alonso held up his hand for silence. He tapped another seventeen digit number into his vox unit, and held it back to his ear. He was now smiling with a rictus grin.
The vox unit bleeped as someone answered on the other end.
"McMeatsson?", asked Alonso. "There is a problem in Hogs Uptown... There are little furry creatures infesting the investments. Deal with this! Deal with it personally!"
There was a brief pause.
"Yes, furry creatures, McMeatsson. Just deal with it!", finished Alonso, shutting the vox unit off.
He stood once more and walked over to the bolter decorating the wall, removing the polished firearm that was almost as big as Alonso was himself. Bolters were exceedingly rare weapons, with a devastating reputation.
The fear emanating from the enforcers was intense.
Alonso racked the bolter, loading a fresh clip of bolt rounds from a drawer in the desk, and looked at Dreyfuss.
"You, me and the Scavvy.", Alonso indicated Mikels with a nod of his head. "We're going to pay a visit to this Cunningham cutter. The one who sold us the shipment."
Dreyfuss looked briefly at Mikels, who was sweating behind his mirrored shades. This was going to be a long day.
(to be continued)
The man in the dark suit was seated at a large scutwood table - imported from off-world. He was of average height, lean and well dressed in the latest Trafalgar Cit fashion, with golden cuff links and purple dyed hair. Tentacle tattoos covered his face. He looked angry. His name was Alonso.
"What do you mean?", asked Alonso distressedly, as he stood up and paced around the spacious pre-fab lux-apt habitation office. The room was lavishly decorated. It looked like Prince Dungenberg the Seventy-fourth's harem. Behind Alonso a platinum plated boltgun was firmly attatched to the wall.
The two men he was talking to were dressed in long winter rain-coats, with their hoods pulled down. The first one - Dreyfuss - was shorter, with a shaved scalp, and the ganger affiliation tattoo tentacles on his forehead identified him as a lowly enforcer, beholden to the Onner's crime syndicate. Mikels, the second enforcer, looked nervously at his feet. Mikels was tall - over seven feet. Almost as tall as the Adeptus Astartes of legend, only thin, with a wispy moustache and lank, greasy hair tied loosely back in a pitiful ponytail. His mirrored photo visor reflected the harsh, glaring spot-light shining into their faces. Mikels had no tattoos at all on his face, unlike the others.
"The.... the shipment, boss..", ventured Dreyfuss sheepishly.
"What about the shipment?", inquired Alonso, loudly. He sat back on his hovering anti-grav chair. It was silver, with red and green blinking lights. It was a tech-relic, and as such was worth a collossal amount of credits. Thirteen million credits to be precise.
"It... it was contaminated.", chirped Dreyfuss. He seemed to be developing a nervous twitch.
There was a long pause. The great-grandmother clock ticked away menacingly in the corner. Dreyfuss counted seven seconds silently in his mind. Suddenly Alonso clasped his hands together and looked directly at Dreyfuss for the first time since he had entered the room, five minutes beforehand. The harsh glare of the spotlight on the polished scutwood table dazzled Dreyfuss's rugged red eyes. He was perpiring and breathing heavily.
"Look, boss...", hazarded Mikels, in his typical high-pitched voice.
"Shut up, Mikels! You son of a Scavvy!", bellowed Alonso suddenly. Mikels squirmed visibly, and resumed watching his toes intently.
"It was the Offer's, boss. I'm sure of it.", intervened Dreyfuss. Alonso's piercing look passed from Mikels onto Dreyfuss.
"How can you be sure?", asked Alonso.
"The bugs were in the shipment, boss.", explained Dreyfuss.
"Bugs?", yelled Alonso, so loudly that Dreyfuss' eardrums nearly burst. He could feel his ears ringing. The boss must have some kind of voice-boosting technology, mused Dreyfuss absently, as he tried to focus back onto the here and now.
"They were in the shipment before we got it, boss.", protested Dreyfuss disarmingly.
Alonso's face was going purple, much like his hair.
"Then why didn't you check the shipment?", screamed Alonso, jumping up out of his expensive anti-grav couch and physically launching himself at his henchman.
Dreyfuss did nothing as Alonso crashed down on top of him and slammed his fist into his nose sharply. He thought he felt some bones breaking in his ribs, and his nose was bent out of shape and bleeding. Squirming he got to his feet.
"Why didn't you check the shipment?", repeated Alonso, agitatedly.
"We did, boss!", said Mikels, glancing over at Alonso, who met his mirror visored eyes with a look of pure venom.
"If you checked it so thoroughly, Mr. Scavvy, then how did they get surveillance in it, you fool!", scolded Alonso, dusting his pinstripe twist trousers off.
"No. Not surveillance! Bugs! Spiders! Sump spiders, big fat bloaters some of the hairy blighters. Me and Mikels left Carruthers and McDaniels back with the shipment, and came to tell you straight away, boss!", bleated Dreyfuss, defensively.
"Spiders?", yelled Alonso, almost laughing out loud at the sheer madness of what Dreyfuss was implying.
"Spiders.. in the lho?", repeated Alonso. He was getting more stressed, and this was bad for his health and the health of those around him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature stimulant inhaler, which he stuck up his left nostril, depressing the button at the bottom. Chemical relaxants jetted up his nose, and his shoulders slumped. He turned away from them and went back to his couch.
Dreyfuss and Mikels shared an anxious look before Alonso turned back towards them. They both knew their lives were in danger now. Alonso's moodswings were the stuff of legend amongst the Onner crime families.
Alonso picked up a small personal vox communication unit, and activated the seventeen digit number of the storage apartment on Hogton Uptown Parade. Dreyfuss could almost hear the vox unit ringing on the other end. McDaniels and Carruthers were taking their time picking it up.
The stressed purple hue was returning to Alonso's face as the vox unit rang repeatedly, whilst nobody answered. Finally after Dreyfuss counted five full minutes, silently in his mind, by the ticking of the antique, wooden great-grandmother chronometer in the corner, Alonso took the vox unit off his ear and deactivated it.
"No answer.", he said quietly, almost to himself.
"We should go back to Hogton.", began Dreyfuss.
Alonso held up his hand for silence. He tapped another seventeen digit number into his vox unit, and held it back to his ear. He was now smiling with a rictus grin.
The vox unit bleeped as someone answered on the other end.
"McMeatsson?", asked Alonso. "There is a problem in Hogs Uptown... There are little furry creatures infesting the investments. Deal with this! Deal with it personally!"
There was a brief pause.
"Yes, furry creatures, McMeatsson. Just deal with it!", finished Alonso, shutting the vox unit off.
He stood once more and walked over to the bolter decorating the wall, removing the polished firearm that was almost as big as Alonso was himself. Bolters were exceedingly rare weapons, with a devastating reputation.
The fear emanating from the enforcers was intense.
Alonso racked the bolter, loading a fresh clip of bolt rounds from a drawer in the desk, and looked at Dreyfuss.
"You, me and the Scavvy.", Alonso indicated Mikels with a nod of his head. "We're going to pay a visit to this Cunningham cutter. The one who sold us the shipment."
Dreyfuss looked briefly at Mikels, who was sweating behind his mirrored shades. This was going to be a long day.
(to be continued)