A Whore at Dread Harbor Ch. 02

Previous Choice:

Physically Interpose Deckard between the mercenary and Diana

Deckard knew where altercations like this could lead. He had to protect Diana first and foremost... but perhaps the situation could still be salvaged.

He stepped between the mercenary and the frightened waitress, obscuring the bald man's view of his intended target.

"Fuck outta my way." He grunted, stumbling forwards.

"Can't do that, friend," Deckard said, halting his progress by placing a hand upon his blue-tinted pauldron. "Maybe sleep this one off instead, huh?"

The mercenary let out a roar and swung at him.

Deckard caught his wrist and twisted, pivoting on his foot and yanking the drunk man's arm behind his back. He shoved the brute face-first down onto a nearby table, sending the drinks of the unfortunate patrons sitting there crashing to the ground. Deckard leaned with his weight so the fool couldn't wriggle free.

"That," Deckard whispered in his ear, "was a mistake." He twisted the arm ever so slightly, and the man let out a cry of pain. Deckard reached down with his free hand and relieved the mercenary of his sidearm, tossing it to the floor.

"You piece-a-shit!" The bald drunk roared, "You know who you're fuckin' with?"

"No." Deckard applied more pressure, feeling a slight pop in the man's arm as he let out a yelp of pain. "And it wouldn't matter if I did. Now: apologize to the nice lady."

The Wellion Crusader mercenary tried to get free, but in his drunken state he was hardly an issue. Deckard grunted and tightened his grip.

"Aaaah fuck! Yes! I'm sorry!"

Deckard glanced up at Diana, who stood a few feet away with her hands over her mouth. He smiled at her.

"Do you accept the apology?" He asked her in Catian. She gave a stiff nod.

Deckard felt large hands fall heavy onto his shoulders. In a blink he was surrounded by a small crowd of four Loupians in suits, each well over six feet tall. "All right tough guy," the wolf-like bouncer growled in his throat, "You made your point. Let 'em go."

Deckard relented, stepping back just in time to be dragged away from the confrontation. He felt the barrel of a gun push against his back, the heat of a Loupian's breath against his neck. "No sudden movements. Hands where we can see them." Deckard raised his hands.

The merc let out a drunken roar and flung himself in Deckard's direction. The bouncers never let him get close, shoving the mercenary back down onto the table and holding him in place as he struggled and ranted.

"Well now, what's going on here?" Came a deep, feminine voice from behind Deckard.

He heard the sound of clicking footsteps behind him, turning just in time to see the woman he'd come all this way to see.

Corani had been changed irrevocably by the awful methods of the Goblin flesh-sculptors. Where Catians as a race were slim and athletic, she was tall and curvaceous. Where Catians moved with almost catlike grace and smoothness, she walked like a stripper in high heels.

Even her long white tail looked unnatural: moving more like a monkey's prehensile appendage than the elegant, twisting curl of a Catian in motion. Her lips were too plump, her surgically modified eyes shifting colors at the whims of her mood.

The color of her hair was not as he remembered it: pale white like snow instead of its original raven black, with a red streak running through it near her right temple. Her wavy hair draped across her shoulders like an enshrouding blanket. With just a flick of her neck she could toss it behind her shoulder, or use the heavy locks to conceal her eyes completely.

She wore a skintight black leather outfit, streaked with lines of teal and white. Atop this eccentric ensemble she wore a ribbed blue racing jacket with the tall collar popped open, exposing her ample cleavage.

"Corani!" Deckard blurted out before he could help himself. Corani's gaze drifted to him for a brief moment.

There was no flicker of recognition in her eyes, only the barest shimmer of color flowing across her irises. She swept past Deckard as if he didn't even exist.

Corani approached the biggest Loupian bouncer in the group, who was busy holding the still-struggling mercenary down on the table. "What's the commotion, Rez?"

"Little dust up between customers, Boss. We kept it from escalating."

Corani cast her eyes back for a brief moment to glance at Deckard, then refocused on the mercenary on the table. "These the two troublemakers?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Rez." She purred, running a sultry finger down his arm. The modified Catian bent at the hips, her plump rear poking out from beneath her short-hemmed jacket as she loomed over the incapacitated drunk. She took the mercenary's chin in hand, glaring at him.

"Gordon. I warned you not to make another scene."

"He started it!" The bald man babbled, pointing an accusing finger at Deckard.

Corani cranked her arm back and struck him hard across the face, the loud slap echoed like a gunshot in the silent bar. "Count the bouncers in this room, you drunken ape. Even if he started it, you don't 'finish' it." She bared her fangs, "This isn't the Apex Lounge, and I'm not paying you thugs protection money."

Gordon cracked a cocky smile. "Aw, ain't you the bold tease. Wanna kiss and make up, love? I'll pay you double for the night."

"Even a whore has standards." Corani said, drawing the claw of her index finger slowly across his face. A small line of blood rose as she drew a furrow on his cheek. "I've given you enough chances. You tell your commander the Wellion Crusaders aren't welcome in my establishment anymore. Our arrangement is done."

That sobered up the mercenary but quick. "...You sure you wanna do this, love?" His voice took on a threatening color, "Bad look to start a stationwide war over a harmless barfight."

Corani's nails clenched against his cheeks. She let out a sultry chuckle, "It's also bad luck to cross a Catian, 'love.' Much like your action in bed, you overestimate your impact."

He guffawed, "Stupid fuckin' whore. You think the Loupians will protect you when the Conglomerate comes knockin'?"

He almost said something more, but was cut off when Corani's fingers clenched around his throat. "A lot more than they'll protect you from me." She snarled in his face. "If I ever see you in one of my businesses again, I'll send you back to your boss two testicles lighter."

Corani let go of him and stood to her full height. "Get him out of here, Rez. You see him skulking about on Loupian turf again, drill him in the head."

"Yes, ma'am." The wolfish bouncer growled. "Get up you ingrate! out the door with ya."

As the bouncers hustled the still-drunk merc out the door, Corani turned to face Deckard. She strode up to him, smooth as a stripper on a runway.

"I don't know who you are..." She stuck her clawed finger in his face. "But you don't start fights in my bar, assholes or no."

"I didn't." Deckard grunted, playing it cool. "If I had, he'd be dead."

Corani scowled. "Cute. A tough guy. Word of advice stranger: tough guys on Dread Harbor get flushed out the airlock."

"He didn't start the fight, Corani." Diana tried to interject. "Deckard was just-"

Corani cut her off. "Diana, please get back to the bar. I will handle this."

"But-"

Corani's surgically modified irises flared a flaming red. "Please." She said, adding angry emphasis to the word.

Deckard caught Diana's eye. He waved her off. She was safe, there was no longer any need to involve her in this dispute. The bouncers already looked-half ready to crack some skulls. With many a backwards glance the Catian left the scene to return to her place at the bar.

Corani refocused on him. "...Are you armed?"

Without moving his raised arms Deckard turned to one side, revealing the pistol sitting in its holster at his hip inside his duster coat. "Of course I am."

Corani nodded. "Good. Because you're going to need it on this station with an attitude like that."

"Should we take his weapons, boss?" Said the Loupian lurking behind Deckard's back.

Corani huffed. "Don't bother. If he's stupid enough to draw a gun in here, then he really doesn't understand the situation he's in." Her eyes met his, flashing a menacing purple, "The Loupian Mafia doesn't like troublemakers, least of all when it comes from unaffiliated freelancers."

She appraised him, her eyes trailing across his features. At last she let out a sigh. "...Come with me, we'll discuss this more in my office."

"Do I have a choice?" Deckard asked, cracking a smirk.

Corani's eyes swirled with orange and yellow colors. Her brow tightened. "No. Not unless you want to be thrown out on your ass on the same terms that Gordon was."

Curiouser and curiouser. Deckard shrugged. "Then lead the way."

Deckard caught Diana's eyes as he was hustled to the back rooms of the establishment. He winked at her as he passed by. She whispered a quiet thank you under her breath.

Corani led the way, flanked by Deckard and two bulky Loupian bouncers into the narrow backrooms. She came to a small, unassuming door, passing her hand over the scanner as it slid open to reveal a quiet office with a desk and chairs. Behind the head of the desk, more than a dozen security camera monitors lit the dark room in artificial light. Corani gestured, and Deckard obliged, stepping into the room.

The bouncers moved to join them, but Corani held up a hand. "It's all right," She said, "Wait outside, this won't take long."

The nearest guard let out a growl and snapped his teeth in Deckard's direction, but they relented. Corani slid smoothly into the room, shutting the door before turning her otherworldly eyes in his direction.

No sooner had the door slid shut behind them than Corani threw her arms around Deckard and embraced him.

"Oh Deckard, I didn't think you'd come!"

Deckard froze, caught off guard by the sudden wild shift in demeanor. Corani buried her head in his chest, taking deep inhales as if she were about to hyperventilate.

In a rush the memories of their first meeting came flooding back. The bloody operating table, the desperate fear in her eyes, the roar of Deckard's rifle as he slaughtered every last one of her monstrous tormentors.

Corani clung to him now like that frightened girl of ten years ago. Heedless of his personal space, she settled into the space inside his duster coat, sheltering herself against his chest. "Goddess, it's so good to see you again!" She whispered.

Now this was not how he had anticipated their long-awaited reunion going. Confusion warred with relief at seeing his old friend again.

How does Deckard respond?

1. Embrace her

2. Ask her what the hell just happened in the bar.

3. Grab her ass.