Post by michael martin on May 31, 2012 20:13:43 GMT -5
K Street was one of the most famous sections of road in the vast Helton city. Nearly a full mile of bars, dance clubs, restaurants, gambling dens and even the occasional hookah joint made it the first stop for any spacer with a paycheck to burn. In all honesty there wasn’t much difference between this place and the red light districts in other cities, but with all the bright lights, loud noises and occasional street performers it was easy for a young man to get caught up in the excitement. Michael Martin wasn’t young, and if any sign of excitement showed beneath the stubble on his cheeks it was reserved for the thought of a hard drink after a long weeks work.
He hadn’t been on Mar’s in a long time, and while he certainly felt a certain sense of nostalgia walking down vaguely familiar streets the simple fact was that he was looking forward to heading back to Earth. Money from the job had been too good to pass up, allowing him to make a decent profit even after booking flights to and from the red planet. To think someone would pay so much for a few grenade launchers and the training to use them properly. Then again, what could you expect from a street gang. They had finally saved up enough cash from their drug deals and extortion rackets to buy some shiny new toys and a sense of legitimacy. Granted the hardware wasn’t exactly cutting edge, but considering all the restrictions on weaponry in this city it was a drastic step up in terms of firepower. The gun runner almost felt bad.
The bounty hunter’s muscular fingers grasped a cheap plastic device in his pocket as he pushed the negative emotions aside. He pulled the lighter from his jeans easily, igniting a flame with a practiced flip of his fingers while placing thick cigarette to his lips. He inhaled enough to pull the fire into the cigarette until a nice glowing ember formed at the end. It was one habit he had no intention of breaking away from. Eventually his wandering feet came to a halt. He stood in between to large lines of patrons attempting to gain entrance to the clubs on either side of him. Michael simply nodded to a large man standing against the frame of a narrow door and walked inside. The bar was known as the K Street Lounge, an old ritzy three story townhouse that had been converted to a bar and blackjack den. It was older than Michael was, and had been a part of the city so long that it refused to put out a sign to indicate it’s existence. People were supposed to already know of its quality, instead most simply went to the bright lights and loud noises of the bars on either side of it.
Michael didn’t complain. Hell, he didn't even feel out of place dressed in his worn white t-shirt and faded jeans. Most people here dressed in the expensive attire of a stock broker or celebrity, but the smuggler to solace in the knowledge that without a doubt, he could kill every last person in the place if he felt he had to.
He made his way up to the third floor, passing the dance floor located on the first floor entirely, lingering momentarily to listen to the live jazz band in the Black Jack den on the second floor, and heading straight to the bar on the third floor. A second musical group was up here, headed by a tall woman whose voice reverberated throughout the entire floor. She was talented, and better yet, singing in the traditional manner of an old folk artist. Her voice was all heartache and smoke, and Michael couldn’t think of a better place to wait out the night. He ordered a whiskey neat and turned away from the bar to watch the woman singing, his muscular back resting lightly on the bar behind him.
He hadn’t been on Mar’s in a long time, and while he certainly felt a certain sense of nostalgia walking down vaguely familiar streets the simple fact was that he was looking forward to heading back to Earth. Money from the job had been too good to pass up, allowing him to make a decent profit even after booking flights to and from the red planet. To think someone would pay so much for a few grenade launchers and the training to use them properly. Then again, what could you expect from a street gang. They had finally saved up enough cash from their drug deals and extortion rackets to buy some shiny new toys and a sense of legitimacy. Granted the hardware wasn’t exactly cutting edge, but considering all the restrictions on weaponry in this city it was a drastic step up in terms of firepower. The gun runner almost felt bad.
The bounty hunter’s muscular fingers grasped a cheap plastic device in his pocket as he pushed the negative emotions aside. He pulled the lighter from his jeans easily, igniting a flame with a practiced flip of his fingers while placing thick cigarette to his lips. He inhaled enough to pull the fire into the cigarette until a nice glowing ember formed at the end. It was one habit he had no intention of breaking away from. Eventually his wandering feet came to a halt. He stood in between to large lines of patrons attempting to gain entrance to the clubs on either side of him. Michael simply nodded to a large man standing against the frame of a narrow door and walked inside. The bar was known as the K Street Lounge, an old ritzy three story townhouse that had been converted to a bar and blackjack den. It was older than Michael was, and had been a part of the city so long that it refused to put out a sign to indicate it’s existence. People were supposed to already know of its quality, instead most simply went to the bright lights and loud noises of the bars on either side of it.
Michael didn’t complain. Hell, he didn't even feel out of place dressed in his worn white t-shirt and faded jeans. Most people here dressed in the expensive attire of a stock broker or celebrity, but the smuggler to solace in the knowledge that without a doubt, he could kill every last person in the place if he felt he had to.
He made his way up to the third floor, passing the dance floor located on the first floor entirely, lingering momentarily to listen to the live jazz band in the Black Jack den on the second floor, and heading straight to the bar on the third floor. A second musical group was up here, headed by a tall woman whose voice reverberated throughout the entire floor. She was talented, and better yet, singing in the traditional manner of an old folk artist. Her voice was all heartache and smoke, and Michael couldn’t think of a better place to wait out the night. He ordered a whiskey neat and turned away from the bar to watch the woman singing, his muscular back resting lightly on the bar behind him.
[/classy][classy=ai1c] I'm having fun, don't put me down¯¯¯¯¯¯¯[/classy] ❧ It was cooler out today. Hana had taken refuge in a nearby bar. It was a jazzy older bar that made her feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. Since the word was out that she was a bounty head, she had a couple of people on her tail. Not many, since she tried to stay hidden, and she was still a small fry. She had been taking refuge in several different places lately to keep the heat off herself, but tonight she had nowhere to stay.