Retributive Justice
Retributive Justice
Arc: None
Summary: Soon after returning to the Majestic from the undercover mission. Draygo is out for the blood of a new pilot. Walsh enjoys a fruitful conversation with Paz about the punishment of Kilrathi sympathisers.
Date: 2659.039
Related Logs: They Hate Whom They Fear
Participants: Paz Draygo Walsh

A young woman with shoulder-length black hair, clad in a flight suit that looks like it's at least ten years old and at least one size too big for her, all covered in patches from squadrons long since disbanded, sits at the bar, watching the latest basketball scores with intense interest. She's got a pint of the Majestic's finest stout in front of her, and an order of cheese fries, which she munches on happily between long pulls from her mug.

It's surprising that Kell hasn't been stopped by security yet, though they may have been warned beforehand to let the pilot that looks like a pirate roam freely. He still has his mercenary flightsuit on and he hasn't had a chance to shave or remove the eye-patch. When he enters the FAL, he looks like a man on a mission, looking for someone in particular. It's obvious he won't find who he is looking for since he has no clue what Lieutenant Nickles looks like. Instead, he just calls out, "Who in here is 'Dice'?" The question is kind of gruff and not exactly friendly.

Walsh steps in, still dressed in his flight suit. He seems to have timed it just right to catch Draygo in the middle of his 'man on a mission' routine. He decides to give him a wide berth, holding back near the entrance. "Ruh roh!" he mutters, wondering how Draygo has managed to get this far without being attacked with a razor. Ironic, considering his callsign.

Paz seems, for her part, to be content to sit at the bar and just _be_. In a place with decent air conditioning, air that doesn't smell like an outhouse, no acid rain and, most importantly, good beer!

The pirate looking Merc doesn't seem to notice anyone else or those near him as his eyes looks over the area once more, seeing if anyone will respond to the callsign 'Dice' while ignoring the odd looks that is being shot in his direction. "God dammit, if I find the guy who stole my bunk and locker, there /will/ be hell to pay." With that, he turns around and heads out, destination elsewhere for now apparently.

Paz chuckles softly and sips at her beer, giving the man an absent minded middle finger over her shoulder as he departs.

Walsh gives a sigh of relief as the local disturbance resolves itself. He's not above stepping into trouble if he has to. Hell, he's started enough fights himself. But a brawl in the FAL isn't on his to-do list. With the tension defused, he starts making his way toward the bar, sparing a glance over his shoulder to make sure Draygo's well and truly gone.

"No _WAY_….No!" Paz protests as the scores run towards the double-A division schools from her neck of Gemini Sector.. "Gah! Goddamned Malinka….she was over-rated as a point guard at Wake, over-rated as a forward at Southern….How long are they gonna fall for the hype machine? Bitch has _no_ game whatsoever…..She can't _pass_, can't _shoot_….Got the finesse of a damned tank on defense. All she can do really well is lay out personal fouls." she sniffs derisively.

As he reaches the bar, Walsh signals for the barkeep to 'liquor' him. Taking a seat on the nearest stool, he can't help but notice the rant being launched into nearby. Not being a huge sport follower, most of it shoots unimpeded from one ear to the other, but he grins all the same. That woman's got some fire.

Paz nudges Walsh's forearm with her elbow as the sports program replays the incident. "See what I'm talking about?" she asks. "She's got legs made of fuckin' concrete….She just _stands_ there, oh yeah, she looks cool, but that's all she's got. Future power player, my ass." Paz scoffs, nibbling down another cheese fry. "She'll never make the majors."

To be fair, the young woman on the screen does appear to know what she's doing, trying her damndest to block a desperate pass with a few seconds to go until the end of the quarter. But she's just not _quite_ quick enough off the mark.

Walsh shifts his focus to the vidscreen. "Yeah, yeah. See what you mean." Walsh replies, hoping he doesn't sound too unconvinced. So, the player was a little slow off the mark. But it's a -sport game-. Not exactly dodging a missile here. Luckily, his beer arrives in front of him in timely fashion, providing an excuse to put his attention elsewhere.

"Nice to see you again, too, Ozone." Paz sniffs, sipping at her beer pensively. "I wasn't expecting fireworks or parades, but…damn, a 'Hey, Tizona, how's it going?' would've been nice." she points out.

Ok. Way to make a guy feel guilty. Walsh turns to Paz with an exaggerated expression. "Oh -hey- Tizona! How's it going?" he says with mock zest. "Guess you've had some interesting times, of late…"

"Hey, Ozone! How's it going? 'Ja miss me?" she asks with the same measure of exaggeration. "Eh, well," she shrugs, plucking at her outmoded flight suit a little. "It had it's moments. Who was that new fish that went scurrying away when Razor showed up?" she asks curiously, cocking her head a little to peer at the man curiously.

"Uh, that would be Dice…" Walsh replies with some amusement. "What was -that- all about?" he says, confused, and as much to himself as to Paz. "The whole merc thing didn't go to Razor's head at all, right?"

"Eh, maybe just a little bit." Paz chuckles softly, sipping lustily at her beer and scarfing down another cheese fry, before making a tiny, strangled noise of embarassment and offering the basket to him. "If I've got cooties, you're used to them." she chuckles softly. "It is good to be home." she sighs happily.

The sight of food being pushed in his direction sets off an alarm somewhere in the depths of Walsh's head, and he grabs voraciously, suddenly staving. He manages a muffled "Fanks!" as he devours a handful of fries. When his mouth is somewhat less stuffed, he gets back to the conversation. "Good to see you lot back, too. Hopefully we'll actually -do- something now."

Paz giggles fitfully as Walsh polishes off the majority of her fries in nearly one gulp. "Hey!" she protests teasingly. "They stop feeding you Illuminati guys since I left?" she chuckles. "I don't mind, please, don't think I do, but..hehe…_DAMN_. What's going on around here lately?"

Walsh peers down at the remainder of Paz's fries, and utters a grinning, semi-apologetic "Oops." "What's going on? Let's see now:" He raises a hand and starts checking off on his fingers. "Uh, patrols." Check. "More patrols." Check. "Oh, and guess what else?" He says, sporting a huge grin. "Feels like I've drawn every CAP from here to Troy lately."

Paz chuckles and shrugs a little. "Don't sweat it, sounds like you needed the carbs." Paz replies with a smile, then, suddenly, launches into a full-tilt embrace. "I _missed_ you guys!" she says. "If you're looking to make travel plans, take note, New Detroit, _not_ a place you wnat on the itinerary." she sighs. "What a fucking _DUMP_! I say let the Fuzzy Wuzzies have the damn place…..They deserve it."

Walsh throws his arms up reflexively as Paz launches herself at him, and almost falls backwards off his stool in surprise. He takes a second to steady himself, then returns the embrace, if a little tentatively. In doing so he looks down at Paz and his facial features noticeably soften. "Heh. I've heard -great- things about the place." he says, dripping with sarcasm. "Not sure I'd give it to the fleabags, though. Only real estate I've got for them is about two meters long and packed with high explosive."

"As much acid's in the rain on that shit ball, they'd burn their fur off inside a week." Paz chuckles, letting the man go and reclaiming her seat. "Can't think of a more fitting fate. We knew they were pussies before, now they're shaved." she winks teasingly. "Okay, so, really, catch me up." she says, motioning for her to join her. "What'd I miss?"

Walsh looks blank for an instant as he processes the innuendo-laced comment, his mind wandering. Snapping back to reality and realizing he's blatantly staring, he begins to blush slightly. Clearing his throat not-so-subtly, he continues. "Uh. Really didn't miss much." He casts a guilty glance around the room, looking anywhere else. "Place's been pretty quiet. Well until our new escorts showed up at the jump point with kitties right up their arseholes…" He shrugs. "And the little skirmish before…" He suddenly looks intensely interested in his drink.

"Skirmish? You had a skirmish?" Paz asks, clearly eager for details. "Was it with the pirates or the Fuzzies?" she prods.

Walsh assumes a shit-eating grin. "Oh, you know how it goes. Out on boring-ass patrol. Get the call that some idiots in Talons have managed to stir up the local furry cheering squad…"

Paz giggles softly. "I'd apologize, but I'm so happy that rat bastard's dead, it was worth it." she sighs, shaking her head. "Damn near killed Tilt…I mean, Oceana.." she sighs. "James got shot up too. Ambushed us when we tried to apprehend him. Heard that there's some big-league troubles about to fall on the local government….all kinds of allegations being made."

Walsh grimaces. "Sheesh. I don't even know the half of it. Sounds like your regular SNAFU." Not the sort of news he was hoping for. "And anything affecting government stability in this area is definitely worrying. Don't need to give the criminal element any more room to barge in than they're already getting."

"Listen, my friend." Paz says, suddenly all business. "Once you hear the whole story, you'll understand. Lemme give you a preview. They tried to get us to blow up an office building with many, many hundred people working inside to protect what ever twisted little deals they'd made with the Fuzzy Wuzzies." she all but growls. "I hope the cut that bastard's balls off and feed 'em to him raw."

"Oh hell yeah." Walsh says with a snarl. "Got no words to describe how I feel about anyone who'll sell out to those furry fuckers." He looks about ready to throw something. "Don't put our arses on the line just so these… wastes of oxygen can turn our own people against us!"

"Way ahead of you, my friend." Paz replies, holding up what's left her pint in offer of a toast. "All for the money….." she sighs. "Flush his fat ass out of the air lock, no trial, no jury, just straight into deep space."

Walsh looks absolutely murderous. "Go ya one better." He raises his own drink in return, thrusting it forward with more force than is in any way necessary. "Jam a fuckin' rocket up his arse and use him as a missile. Least he'd be useful for something."

Paz grins malevolently. "Oh…you _are_ a naughty man…" she giggles fitfully. "I salute you, sir!" she says, hoisting her pint in tribute. "Anyhow, it's been long enough since I've had drinkable beer that this pint's gone right to my head." she sighs. "All I wanna do now is get a proper shower and snuggle up in my rack." she says. "Thanks for the warm welcome, amigo." she adds, leaning over to plant an uncharacteristic peck on Walsh's cheek. "We'll be up to our backsides in Fuzzy Wuzzies soon enough, no doubt." she snerks as she polishes off the rest of her beer and settles her tab.

Some of the fire seems to leave Walsh as lips brush his cheek, but it doesn't take a psychic to see that he's still bristling. "No doubt." He replies, in a much more amiable tone. As Paz makes signs of departing, he says, "Think I'll head over to the trainsims. Try and work this temper off before I deck someone." As she heads out the door, he tries his darndest to dispel the image of snuggling up…