6/7/2006
Station City - 200 Marina
Historically, Station City has always been a centre of trade and industry. But it achieved fame as the nerve centre of the pioneering transcontinental rail network, not as a sea port. Hence, Maritime pursuits in Station City have always been for pleasure, not business, and the Marina reflects that. While it doesn't attract many tourists these days, it's still popular with the locals. Various small businesses, and the occasional vendor, have set up shop along the bay. Several restaurants and bistros are in residence, with outdoor seating beneath a forest of umbrellas. And, of course, the crystal blue waters of the Emerald Coast are always visible.
Just off Station Square, this portion of the Marina is home to what passes for the local pier, with several small craft, ranging from little speedboats to larger yachts, docked securely in various berths. Beyond the moored civilian craft, one or two Military cutters patrol the waters of the bay, part of the security net that keeps Station City safe. To the north, further along the Marina, one can make out the shape of the Twinkle Park complex dominating the skyline, and to the south, the glittering tower of the Station City Hotel.
[Exits : Station Square , 100 Marina , and 300 Marina ]
[Players : Harley ]
Gantz is wandering the streets again after some unwanted bedrest. After his stalemate with Shadow, he had visited the doctor and then reported in to GUN. The information caused quite a buzz, though he wasn't entirely certain why, and he himself was a little too out of it to pay strict attention. Either way, he'd been given orders by both the physician and the GUN leader (as Klonoa, head of the Special Forces division, was still tied up with some negotiations involving Knothole) to stay in bed and recover. There was only one problem. After the first day or two of sleeping in late, when he felt so tired from excessive blood lost anyway, he had to contend with the epic horrors of BOREDOM!
And right now, with the collection of bandages adorning his trim frame, he just wants to relax without being cooped up. One also might not have expected someone who'd gone through such a gut-wrenching battle to ever want to return to any part of Freedom Way. But Gantz is no ordinary someone. He's been a successful bounty hunter in the past and even THAT was not enough to phase him. Nothing short of Robotnik in heavy make-up and drag while trying to seduce him is going to keep him from wandering where he wants to. Or a small army, whichever comes first. He may be stubborn but he isn't foolish. Still, he is in the midst of recovering from his wounds (though many were superficial) and the Marina seems like the least likely place to unwittingly come across a fight. It is also the last place anyone might expect him to go, given that he dislikes boats very much.
Certainly easy to spot amongst the lazy activity at the pier, what appears to be a small cargo ship, easily twice the size of most of the yachts moored here, has been halted a short distance away. Snugged up alongside the aging craft is one of Station Square's patrol boats, obviously responding to the unusual craft. "Listen, poppie," shouts a rough, annoyed female standing on the cargo ship's railing, "I ain't got time or patience t'be workin' me jaw with ye all day! Now, I got it on good authority, an' I ain't aiming t'be proven wrong here, but I been told there was people here, be needin' what I got t'sell! Now I ain't gonna chivvy over my routes for nothin, so either gimme a berth, poppy, or I sit right out here and clog up your lane!"
Gantz notices the enormous craft on the water. How could he miss it? Especially when the captain is loud enough to be heard even from where he's standing? He shivers, shaking out the long fur covering his shoulders a bit, and decides to head to the nearest open dock to get a closer look at what is going on. Of note, he has the enormous quad-barrel handgun slung over one shoulder. He decided not to take any chances for this outing. Not until he's back to proper health again.
The conversation between the two boats becomes noticeably more subdued for the moment, now that the captain isn't in an uproar. After a few moments, the feline, by the looks of the thrashing tail, grabs hold of a nearby guy rope and swings to the deck. "All right, sailors, hop to! We're docking, everyone! Get me inventory on the holds, and *nobody* gets leave until this ship is clean, stem to stern!!" With a minor lurch, the ship starts moving toward the docks, even as the sails start to lower. From the disturbance in the water behind the ship, it looks to be running on an engine of some kind as it pulls into port, and a brief flash of reflected sunlight picks the faded, but still readable legend 'MFS -- Gambler's Ruin' painted upon the side of the ship, near the back.
Harley
One of the first things one would notice upon resting eyes on this seal-point Siamese is that she is, in fact, tall. Extremely tall, for the average Mobian, standing roughly 5' 3" of pure, scruffy beanpole kitty. Her fur, which is for the most part short and messy, thanks to the sea air of her preferred environs, is the warm color of old, polished ivory, darkening rather abruptly to a dark chocolate color on her face, ears, hands, feel, and tail. Her eyes are very, very blue, gleaming from within the dark fur of her face. The speculative, calculating glint within their depths give her the air of one who not only notices everything around her, but is likely trying to figure its rough market value. If this woman posesses more than the usual amount of headfur, it is for the most part kept hidden by a thick blue bandanna, knotted carefully around her ears and over the top of her head. On her lean body is an old, worn, oft-mended captain's jacket, of the lace-ruffled cuffs variety, done up in blue, black, and gold piping. By the looks of it, it must be a family heirloom of some sort.
Gantz makes his way quite casually towards the ship, now that he can see where it's docking, which is luckily in the direction he was headed in the first place. He stands on the wooden pier and watches the magnificent boat skim the waves nearby. Gambler's Ruin, hmm? Good thing he doesn't gamble with anything more than his life. Still, he hasn't seen a ship like this in... in ever. Most of what he's seen are the personal yachts and other little boats owned by individuals for recreation. He has no interest on setting foot in one, as they make him hidiously nauseous, but this is still the most fascinating thing he's seen of late. He watches the ship's crew work, wondering what such a vessel is even doing here. Didn't the captain, a lovely lady now that he can see her better, say something about selling? His interest is vaguely piqued, if nothing else.
In due time, amidst much shouting and flurried activity, a wide gangplank thumps upon the pier. Seemingly unconcerned by either the rocking gait of the ship itself, or the dangerous-sounding wobble and creak of the gangplank, a scruffy, very tall Siamese cat heads toward land, a bulging carpetbag slung casually over one shoulder. She halts midway down the plank, a single black curl bouncing as it escapes her tightly-knotted bandanna, and turns to look over her shoulder. "Y'all heard me, now! No leave till work is *finished!* I better not find s'much as a tin *can* when I get back!!"
Gantz jumps slightly as he narrowly avoids being hit with the gangplank and arches an eyebrow at the siamese wandering down it. Yet the vulpine can't think of anything to say, not even 'Watch it!' No, he is not so awed by her beauty that he has lost his tongue. But he truly isn't quite sure what to make of her, other than she doesn't seem to be a threat.
"... Hello," he says, as if admitting he probably doesn't belong here. Given his appearance, this is a fair summation.
Gantz
You may have seen attitude and confidence before but maybe not like this. The vulpine in question is a bit taller than average, lean, lithe, and toned, not unlike many other young males around the same age. But the usual, clear smirk on his short, elegantly tapered muzzle (at the tip of which is a small, dark brown nose of equal elegance), the thin, black, typically furrowed brows, and the eyelids half lowered in a discerning manner over his sky blue, almond-shaped eyes are all distinctly smug features. Most Mobians don't have the station or the sheer power to develope such consistant condescension towards everyone. Especially not to their face. Gantz clearly doesn't share this limitation.
If one bothers to continue looking longer, the rest of him is of equal interest. Most of Gantz's body is covered in pure black, sleek fur, except for the saffron interior of his large, triangular ears and the fuzzy patch covering the lower half of his face, including the long spike of fur sticking out of each cheek, the triangular patchs over his eyes, and the thin blaze that goes up the bridge of his snout. The fur on the top of his head is very smooth and pulled back into a long, slender ponytail near the nape of his neck. Perched securely on his forehead are a pair of reddish-brown leather goggles, that usually remain resting there when not in use, and somewhere, in the general area of his neck, is a large, thick ruff of fur that starts out black in the center and quickly spreads out into a golden cream color much like that on his face. Beneath this distinctive but unusual mane is a perpetually open, red jacket made of thin material.
Over his big, masculine hands, and the snug sleeves of his jacket, are a pair of almost immaculately white gloves that widen near his elbows. Under all of this is a light grey shirt and a pair of close fitting grey pants that are shoved into a pair of bulky but fitted, knee-high black boots. Around his waist is a reddish-brown belt filled with bullets clips and holstered on each side are a pair of unusual red laser pistols with an elongated star emblazoned on their rectangular, blunt muzzles. Sometimes he can be seen carrying a slightly more normal looking revolver (that is nearly as large as himself and with four barrels) over one shoulder quite casually, as if it belonged there. Should he take notice of you or should his bushy, yet stumpy, black tail begin to wag... it might be time to run.
[ Gantz saw you looking at him. ]
Harley by this point, had made it to the very edge of the gangplank, when the mumbled greeting registers in her brain. Impossibly blue eyes narrow, peering at the vulpine, looking him up and down. A ripple goes through her chocolate-brown mask of fur as one eyebrow rises. "...'Ere, now," she says, rough voice thick with an accent of indeterminate origin. "It's a merchant ship, not a cruise liner. An' you ain't looking the type to be wantin' trade goods, what ya want?"
Gantz grimaces at the sheer suggestion that he would want to go on a cruise. Oh, the horror! Oh, the suffering! Oh, the emo! But he shakes it off and tilts his head, regarding Harley with one eye open as he shrugs.
"That depends on your definition of trade goods," Gantz admits.
Harley's other eyebrow joins the first, and her eyes narrow just a bit further. "Food, mainly. Cloth, usually. Trinkets here'n'there, when I can find a good deal. Sure as I ain't f'r sale, boy, so you'd best be getting that thought right outcher head."
Gantz snorts and scowls at the very suggestion that he was trying to solicit her in such a manner! And the term boy, that doesn't sit with him well either, even though he is probably about the same age as most of the Freedom Fights (and a GUN member.) He shifts his enormous handgun a little and puts one hand on his hip, obviously very cocky.
"As if you'd know what to do with me," Gantz taunted, "No, I was simply curious. Mostly I'm always looking for a good deal on laser ammunition. But you said you have food?"
Harley draws herself up, chest puffing out as she folds her arms. "Son, you ain't lookin' to be much more'n half my age. So you may wanna turn that 'round 'n ask yerself if *you'd* have half a clue how to handle *this* lil kittycat. Once you got *that* straight, *then* we'll talk shop."
Gantz blinks at the cat's sudden insistance on taking this train of thought to it's logical course. He has had decent, but varied, experience with cats (just enough to know they're all crazy as hell) and a lot less experience with women in general. He does get a bit huffy himself at her accusation. He just spent last week proving how GODDAMN MANLY he was by not getting his ass killed in front of City Hall! And she has the gall to point out he's never actually gotten past his snotty attitude enough to give a girl her props (as long as she isn't clingy and needing to be saved a lot. He wants a tough woman, if he ever finds one.)
In the end, Gantz just ends up fuming at her until it dawns on him, "Wait, are you saying you would be interested in sleeping with me?"
Maybe that wasn't the right thing for her to have insinuated. Ever. Gantz is picky and cocky but he's also got that teenage syndrome where he'll take whatever opportunities float his way.
And it was. Oh, boy, was it ever. The moment those words escape the little fox's lips, Harley's tail flares out, puffing up all along its length. The feline takes in a deep, deep breath, a muscle under one eye twitching. "...You wanna say that again, boy? I don't think I heard you right..."
Gantz decides to turn around and just walk away, very casually, the moment she starts to get like this. He is not looking for a fight and arguing with this woman over such a trifling thing is pointless anyway. Apparently he misunderstood. She wasn't interested. But he still thinks she's missing out. And he can't help but try to get in the last word.
"Nevermind. I see you're one of those annoying girls," he says lightly, "All talk and teasing until the word is actually said, THEN you take offense and want nothing to do with it."
Right about that time, a hand closes around the vulpine's ponytail, pulling him up short... quite literally. The captain squats down, just far enough to look the little snot eye-to-eye, as she slowly, inexorably, pulls him back. It would seem she's not done talking yet.
Gantz erks a bit at the yank on his hair but when he turns to face her, as she pulls him rather painfully closer, he... SMIRKS. Yes, he smirks.
Harley holds up a hand, finger extended, and places her fingertip right on his nose. *beep* "Listen up, kiddo. If yer lookin' to take a toss, you better find someone what ain't been but on a boat for the better part of three months yet, an' just had ta fight ta get inta port 'n take a load off, maybe make a trade or two. An' with an attitude like that, ain't no *girl* gonna wanna touch ya ta slap ya. Lucky fer me, though, I ain't been a girl over ten years now, an' this *woman* is gonna hear an apology afore she takes y'on deck an' lets her crew at'cha." To emphasize the point, a claw begins to extend from her fingertip, just enough to poke at the vulpine's nose. "Get me, bucky?"
Gantz looks down at the claw poking at his nose and narrows his eyes irritably.
"You would sacrifice your crew like that?" he asks calmly, as if not registering the on deck part, "What kind of captain are you, that you'd give up their lives because I've annoyed you?"
Harley's lips curl, showing a rather impressive aray of small, needle-sharp teeth. "Boy, you know anything about sailin? Y'know the first thing a sailor gets reeeeeal good at?"
"Picking on a 'little boy' because he's shown some interest in you? Which I didn't, you were the one who jumped to conclusions," Gantz accuses.
Harley arches an eyebrow, falling silent for a moment. "Kiddo, you'd best start learnin' some manners, afore you get yerself in a worse pickle than pissin' off a buncha traders. May not be armed like you," she says, nodding at the gun on the vulpine's back, "but then, there's some as don't fiddle 'round with guns, they'll just knock yer teeth out back o' yer throat." The feline lets go of Gantz' ponytail, settling back on her haunches, tail lashing back and forth. "Now, I got the feeling somethin' got lost in the middle, an' like as not I got the wrong idea, way y'starin at me. Happens, an' I'll let it go, if y'll do the same. Get me?"
Gantz nods, though he can only get so civil while remaining what he is, which is a cocky little bastard.
"I'm not interested in a fight. And trust me, even if your crew is exceptional, you would not enjoy the state they and your vessel would end up in. If nothing else, my... stomach takes a turn for the worse whenever I've been on one. I suppose you're not all bad. You certainly have a spine and I definately respect that."
Harley nods, and rests her arms on her knees, rocking back some. "...So. Y'asked what kinda food I carry, ain't much, really. Dry goods, tinned stuff, mostly things as can handle bein' out t'sea. Ain't a trawler, so I ain't got fish an' I wouldn't trust it to sell it if I did. I may be hard-nosed, but I ain't a cheat an' I ain't slime enough ta sell turned food." The feline pulls her bandanna off, raking a hand through her short, kinky mop of sweat-soaked black headfur. "Most o' th' food I got's earmarked, anyway, for them Freedom kiddies out Forest-wards."
Gantz looks at her interesting, curly headfur and nods again. Though he is feeling rather hungry at the moment, none of the food sounds of interest to him. Especially not if it's mostly destined to aiding the FF. He himself doesn't give a damn about the Acorn Kingdom or it's previous alliance with Robotnik, unlike some of the more typical military soldiers in the GUN. But he respects the Freedom Fighters purely out of mild personal experience, before he hooked up with GUN, and thanks to the stories he's been told. They're tough and need to be approached with caution.
Gantz says, "I imagine some of it will stay in Station City as well. They have the worst problem with that, other than fish, which they can get on their own I expect."
Harley blinks, peering speculatively at Gantz, a slow smile on her face. "Really, now... Y'people need a bit more'n what'cha got, do ya...?" The look currently on the feline's dark-furred face suspiciously resembles the cat that ate the proverbial canary. "Sure'n I'll be rememberin' that... Done me a good turn, kiddo. Might be as I'd have somethin' of interest for ya anyhow. Just got back from jaunt 'round the horn, picked up some neat stuff." Reaching back, she hauls open the lip of the carpetbag behind her and tips it over. From the bag's mouth spills a small pile of wildly random goods, from kids' toys to scanners and everything else in between. "Whyn'cha take a rummage, see if somethin' catches yer eye, mh?"
Gantz blinks at the pile of odds and ends before he pokes a little paddle and ball. And a water gun. He hasn't had a water gun since he was very little. Toys are not something he has had access to or much interest in. But given that he can't currently do any jobs for money, he might as well get something to ease the time spent in the GUN-paid apartment he's currently living in here at Station Square.
"It's simple," Gantz explains as he shifts his gun to a more comfortable position and gently digs through the pile, not wanting to damage anything by mistake, "This city doesn't have any nearby farming communities and very little way of getting food other than from outside it. That's why food is expensive here. Somewhat cheaper, tasty snacks are also in high demand to fill the vending machines. But what's really profitable, in large quantities, are goods like flour, spices, and oils. Things needed in most dishes. What's this?"
Gantz holds up a random toy, trying to discern what it is. No, it's not a 'girly one'... he just doesn't know because he had a very brief childhood, much of which he has forgotten by now.
Harley absorbs everything the little vulpine says, with almost predatory concentration, the tip of her tail shifting back and forth as he continues to talk, spilling all the inroads to make a fortune here. She nods at the toy causing some confusion. "S'a game. Look there-there's a screen on t'other side. Can't rightly recall what game it plays, but I know I got batt'ries in there somewhere..."
Gantz turns the plastic, handheld game over to see the screen. It looks like the kind that has only one game, built into it, but as he has never played such a thing before, it intrigues him.
Gantz says, "Are the batteries easy to come by? I imagine the ones you have will run out of power eventually."
Harley shrugs. "Standard size, I'd wager. Pretty easy to pick up, most places, I just keep a bunch on hand. Interested?"
Gantz grins at her question. Hell, why not? Harley made his day after all. Standing up straight again, still holding the game, he nods and... well, she probably can't see from the front but given that she is much taller, she might see his little tail wiggling. Awwww.
"Yes, I am. How much do you want for it and the batteries?" he asks.
Harley's eyebrow arches, and the cat chuckles quietly. "What'cha got, then?"
Gantz arches an eyebrow of his own and wonders what to haggle. He actually has quite a bit of money on him at all time. The cost of his hovering motorcycle, ammunition, and food aside, he doesn't trust to leave much of it lying around 'at home' at any given time. Of course, no mugger in his right mind would target Gantz... and live to tell about it.
Gantz says, "Hmm... 20 mobiums? Maybe?"
This actually isn't that bad of a price but it's on the lower end of what is obviously fair.
ECONOMY
==============================================================================
There is a mostly active economy, though many groups and societies
emphasize equal trade over the global tender notes. While other forms of
currency such as the Acorn Standard currency set have largely fallen out of
favor with the populace, the Treasury of the Alliance has taken great care
to affirm their support of the rising global standard currency the Mobium,
which is primarily printed in Corneria and disseminated through the world
via nonaffiliated trade ships.
Mobiums are a poly-unit system, but it focuses on a monoterm
currency: A mobium is actually a kind of gold coin, but bills in larger
denominations are common. Prior to the coup, most of the working class could
expect to make 100 mobiums in a day and about 25 mobiums would buy a
comfortable dinner for one. Now, that same job might pay much less, as the
war has caused electronic forms of payment to fall out of favor and has also
created many supply shortages. On the flip side, conscripted military work
of any kind pays very highly, however quality military equipment is also
expensive.
Most free merchants support the mobium and some have been attempting
to revive a rudimentary form of the banking system. However, many favor
traditional bartering services over paper cash. The Freedom Fighters are
notorious for this--many prefer a one to one trade for goods and services,
primarily due to the highly familial nature of their cells.
==============================================================================
Harley smirks. "Come on, kiddo, ya gotta do better'n that... Popgun like that ain't cheap to keep up, now, is it? Fifty."
Gantz thinks this over, though he nods to Harley's comment. She is correct after all. "How about thirty-five?"
Harley's grins widens, showing off those sharp little teeth of hers again. "Good, better... But looked t'me like y'ain't gonna find somethin' like that just anywhere else, though.... Tell ya what. We'll call it even at forty, an' I'll throw in couple extra batteries. Sound good?"
Gantz nods at this and gives Harley a thumbs up. Then he sets the game down briefly. That's the only problem with that huge gun of his, it takes up one entire arm, making it awkward for him to handle a number of things more freely. He shifts the gun into the crook of his elbow as it rests over his arm, and pulls out one of his wallets. He's a bit paranoid. So he has more than one. And lots of pockets in it. But he pulls out the aforementioned mobiums and hands them to her. Exactly forty, not a mobium more and not a mobium less.
Harley nods, taking the money and tucking it into an inside pocket in her jacket so quickly, it could almost be a stage trick. With her free hand, she reaches deep into the bag, pulling out a small handful of batteries to place next to the game. Turning a sunny grin to the vulpine as she re-ties her bandanna, she tilts her head. "There now, that oughta do it... What's y'r name, kiddo? Ol' Harley likes t' remember folks what done her a favor."
Gantz puts his own wallet back into another jacket pocket of his own and then puts the game and batters into a third. He'll wait until later to try it out. Even if it ends up being kind of a dumb game, any game is better than nothing. And this one was cheaper than visiting the Twinkle Amusement Park and getting pointed at by idiots who remember him as the King of the Ultimate Dance. ...Which reminds him, he needs to make sure Klonoa NEVER GOES THERE when he does.
"I'm Gantz, though I have some... names I've been given thanks to my old trade. Now I mostly just work for the GUN. But you said your name is Harley?"
Harley chuckles, getting lazily to her feet. "A-yep, that's me... Harlequin O'Connor, Captain of the MFS Gambler's Ruin..." She looks back at the ship, a glint of pride in her eyes. "S'me pappy's ship, taught me t'sail afore I could walk..." The feline grins, looking back down at the vulpine. "So, y'r a GUNer, eh? Don't get too much trade wi' y'r pals, they don't like t'get out much... What'cha doin' way out the boonies, anyway?"
Gantz gives Harley a small salute as she introduces herself to him and, though the idea of sailing in a ship disgusts him, he can still understand her feelings while discussing her father and her love for what she does. He smiles faintly as she asks him about himself and is just as cocky as before, though he unconsciously pats his previously wounded thigh as he speaks.
"Hmm, well... I'm here on a covert operation, so I can't tell you much," Gantz admits, meaning that he doesn't know what it is yet either, other than it has something to do with the Freedom Fighters, who hold this city, and Klonoa, who is the kind of leader that he has to grit his teeth at.
Gantz adds, "Most of the time I'm around for protective measures. But I've since... gotten into a nasty situation that's left me using up all my sick days in one go."
Harley smirks a bit. "Really, now... Got'cherself in a scrape, mh? Well, least yer still walkin' round, couldn't've been all that bad, now... Eh, well, hope that thing'll keep y'from gettin' too bored, glad t'be a help."
Gantz winks at her and gives her another thumbs up. It's cute. He also nods gives her another salute as he turns to leave, "Yes, I'm sure that it will. Thank you... Miss Harley. And if you ever need a hired gun for something, just let me know. Normally I travel all over the place so you never know where I might be of some help."
Harley chuckles dryly, shaking her head. "Cute kid," she murmurs, before raising her voice. "Ain't likely to get into no scraped, kiddo. No profit in blood, see, and like as not we'd only run into trouble from pirates... out that way," she says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to the wide, wide ocean...
Gantz makes a face at the ocean but continues to walk off, talking to her sort of over his shoulder as he does, "I'll pass on the salty sea, though I am a good swimmer. But keep me in mind, I do have a talent for clearing out trouble. Ta-ta."
(
geocities.com/dove_cg)