Mercenaries’ Tale – 4.06 Dressing for the Environment
Polaris did not have a crime problem.
Many joked that was because it was too damn cold to go prowling around at night but in truth it was because Polaris existed solely to service the corporations that were looking to develop their products somewhere with minimal scrutiny. This meant that in order to live in Polaris, you needed to have a connection to one of the titans of industry that were established there. Even something as simple as a corner shop was only allowed to exist because it helped the corporate workforce stay fed, the owners receiving a special dividend by whichever company owned the township in order to encourage them to serve the community here rather than making a living somewhere warm and not home to ice tarantulas, mad scientists and numerous other species of fauna prone to eating anything that stayed still long enough.
As the populace were only allowed to stay in Polaris so long as they remained a loyal employee, the likelihood of someone becoming financially desperate enough to commit a crime was incredibly low. This was reduced further by each township a) having different definitions of what a crime even was and b) the security forces of each township coming down hard on anyone that dared attempt an act on said list of definitions.
What resulted was a community that didn’t invest very heavily in security systems outside of the testing facilities. To most, it seemed a waste of money, the citizens of each town knowing each other well enough to the point that they would happily leave their front doors unlocked. The outerwear shop Kate had selected – a quaint log cabin signposted as “Garth’s Glamorous Gear” – had no security cameras and a backdoor with a lock so brittle, Doug thought he could have sneezed and it would have flown open.
Not the least bit worried about the store clearly being closed, the threesome slipped inside and set to work putting together suitable outfits for their stay.
Kate, forever practical, picked out for herself a thick, fur-lined coat in white, a light blue scarf, some sturdy boots with a strong tread and finally a pair of light grey jeans that would blend with the colouring of her Antarctic surroundings better than her usual beige and brown attire.
Doug, however, was less worried about keeping warm and was far more interested in the store’s collection of ushanka hats, much to Kate’s chagrin.
“Please tell me you’re going to do more than get a hat,” asked the redhead as she watched her friend admiring himself in the mirror.
“Dunno, I’m pretty warm bodied, don’t think I need a lot,” he replied, adjusting the hat on his head and turning to better show it off to Kate, “what do you think? Suits me?” he grinned.
“I think it’d look a lot better with some proper cold weather gear,” was the stern reply. She glanced towards the racks and selected a thick, cream coloured woolly jumper, a criss-cross of diamond shapes knitted into it. Pulling it off the rack, she held it aloft in order to size it against Doug’s frame.
“This’ll be a good start. Maybe try to find some good boots as well,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong with my boots?”
“Aside being so old and worn that you’ve barely any tread left on the things? Your shins need protecting from the cold and I don’t want you getting frostbite due to your jeans getting wet and freezing to your ankles. Get some boots,”
“I don’t need you to bloody dress me-” he stopped his complaining as Kate shot him a stare so hard and unamused that it could stop a man’s heart from the sheer blunt force of it. Doug stalled, considered where they were, why they were there and what had transpired the last time he had dragged his friends somewhere and ignored all their advice. It made his side ache. He cleared his throat.
“…I’ll just go look at the boots, shall I?” he sheepishly asked as he took the jumper from her unresisting hand. Kate nodded, satisfied.
“Please do.”
As Doug traipsed over to the wall of footwear, Kate turned her attention onto Gratin. The mage was stiffly staring at a rack of coats but was otherwise making no moves to try anything on. She watched him for a moment before quietly sidling up next to him.
“Like the look of anything?” she innocently asked. Gratin merely grunted, his gaze on nothing in particular. He could feel her eyes on him, Kate studying his body language.
“I know your bounty picture wasn’t exactly up to date but the authorities will be looking for a Darkworlder mage. Getting changed will be a good idea. Besides, wearing warmer clothes means you’ll be burning off less spell power keeping out the cold, right?” Gratin’s head momentarily turned to look at her before silently going back to watching whatever was immediately in front of him, the mage failing to say anything. Kate found herself sighing.
“Look, I get it, okay? It must be hard not knowing where you came from or who you were before…” she reached over and gently grasped the shawl of his robes between her fingers, “…but you know this isn’t an identity, right? You’re more than some clothes or even a name…” she watched as he began to tense, preparing to argue, only for it all to release, his posture sagging.
“You must think me childish…” he eventually mumbled, embarrassed. Kate smiled at him.
“No. Again, I get it. That need to hold on to whatever you have, no matter how little it may be… but even with different clothes, a different alias and without whatever memories these G men took from you, you’re still our friend; a quiet bloke that likes to soak up everything in front of him and is probably the smartest man in the room without ever feeling the need to boast about it. That’s who you are and a nice new coat won’t change that, okay?” he turned to look at her again, this time keeping eye contact.
“Thank you, Mistress. I am sorry for making you worry. I know taking this mission now is far from a sensible course of action…” he trailed off as she patted him on the arm.
“We’ll make the most of it. We’ll steal whatever files we can find on you and disappear somewhere to make sense of it. I just want you to know that whatever you find there, it’s not going to change who you are to us. Don’t be disappointed if it’s not what you hoped,” she gave his arm a squeeze.
“A proper name will suffice to be honest. At the moment all I have is a word cobbled together from a serial number that was stamped on the unit that contained me. It was never much to go on…”
“If it’s a real name you want, you could just stick with Archibald. It’s not terrible,” Kate joked. Gratin found himself chuckling along with her.
“Perhaps but I cannot help but feel at this point that it would be like letting the Meatbag win,”
“Hmm, true, he would become insufferable,” the two shared another laugh. Kate stepped away and picked out one of the thick coats in front of her: a dark blue number with a large hood which sported a fur trim.
“If you don’t want a brand new look, how about a compromise? Keep the robes but lets find you some leggings and sturdy boots to go underneath and a coat to go over the top? Maybe a scarf? Will that make you feel better?”
“I believe that will be perfect, thank you.”
It didn’t take long for the boys to pick out their winter wear, Gratin far more open to having Kate help him than Doug was, the soldier making a show of picking out his own boots and gloves along with a pair of snow goggles that were tinted blue. As Gratin took his selections into the changing rooms, he paused to watch the two humans, Kate having found a thick red scarf that she was helping Doug tie around his neck and tuck into his leathers. Doug was acting uncharacteristically shy as Kate straightened the garment out, the two’s eyes meeting and that bubble of warmth Gratin kept sensing returned to envelope the pair. There was a pause before Kate cleared her throat and busied herself with counting out some Kronz notes to leave in the till whilst Doug wandered off to examine himself in the mirror. The bubble disappeared, a shadow of fear briefly passing over Kate whilst the frosty shell of self-doubt crept over Doug as the pair busied themselves on opposite sides of the room. Gratin closed the door to the little changing room, musing on what his empathic senses were telling him as he adorned himself with his new clothes.
Some time after, they were back on the street with their old garments stuffed into a duffel bag currently on Doug’s back. In need of a plan, they decided to head to the Neon Archnid in the hopes of finding a quiet booth to discuss their next move in.
The bar’s aesthetic wasn’t any better on the inside. The establishment got it’s name for the large, stuffed ice tarantula that was hanging above the bar. The creature was the size of a labrador, it’s eyes having been replaced with lightbulbs that pulsed between a variety of neon colours – green to pink to blue to orange and back again. The bar itself was ramshackle, panels falling off here and there and the shelves behind being crafted from sheet metal. The bottles were labelled in the languages of New Scania – Finnish, Norwegian and German to name a few – with next to none that were recognisable from those hailing from Centrissal. Lighting was minimal, strip lighting that barely worked fitted around the tops of the walls being the only light source. The furniture all looked like an amateur metal worker had gotten overly eager with a lathe, the tables all wonky and the chairs looking like they wouldn’t be out of place at an art expedition for sculptures. The clientele was scarce at this time in the morning, most either asleep or on the verge of passing out with the exception of one couple in the back that were attempting to have a romantic encounter, a woman sitting on the lap of her partner who was attempting to motorboat her but was actually managing more of a dinghy, his head laying still between her breasts.
The other exception was that of The Major who was currently sat at the bar and was animatedly talking to the bartender: a squat, burly bloke covered in body hair and tattoos, his hair cut into a mullet complimented by the bristled handlebar moustache that hugged his lip. It was clear the bartender was unaccustomed to having such an eccentric patron in his bar at half four in the morning, his eyes darting nervously around as he tried to find an excuse to leave the conversation. The Major wasn’t paying any attention, more interested in describing a particularly action-filled campaign he had embarked on many years prior.
“Now, what we did see, was we snuck up behind the blighters like so,” the Major was utilising several empty whiskey glasses as stand-ins for platoons, which he was manoeuvring around a bowl of peanuts that represented the enemy HQ, “and we took the scoundrels out from behind! HA!” he thumped his fist violently on the table, knocking the little bowl over and sprayed peanuts everywhere. The bartender jumped backwards in alarm, catching sight of the mercs as they approached. Judging the way Doug was rubbing his face in embarrassment and Kate was wincing, the man came to a deduction.
“Is this geezer with you? You might wanna keep a better eye on him,” he seemed more annoyed than concerned for the old man, the bartender using the groups arrival as an excuse to disappear out the back, Kate muttering an apology as he left. The Major, his face flushed with foreign spirits, turned to greet them.
“Ah! There you are! Productive walk I see!” he nodded at their new attire, “Jolly good! You all look spiffing!”
“You’ve been making friends I see,” Doug commented, glancing in the direction of the door the bartender had just disappeared through. There were the sounds of scuffling, someone struggling with a heavy load on the other side of the door.
“Always! I’m a very amiable fellow!” The Major beamed, “I took the liberty of asking about those rooms that are being advertised upstairs! I could see this trip was so spur of the moment that you didn’t even pack so I assumed you neglected to book a hotel…?”
“We usually like to shop around when we get there when on holiday,” Kate lied before Doug could start complaining about The Major’s forwardness, “it often works out cheaper and I suppose you could say we’re thrill seekers…” she smiled weakly. The Major nodded sagely, stroking his moustache.
“Yes, I rather thought that was the case. Oh Barkeep! A word please!” there were more scuffling sounds from the back followed by some grunting. A moment later and a woman stepped out. She was tall with dark skin, her hair dyed blonde and braided down her back. She seemed distinctly out of place in this dive bar, the woman wearing a stylish floral dress and painted nails in a dazzling electric blue. She smiled brightly at them as she approached.
“Sorry about the wait, I was moving some barrels around! May I help?” she looked a little flushed, the woman radiating a nervous energy.
“What happened to the man?” asked Kate suspiciously.
“Oh him? He’s dead tired so he went for a nap but it’s okay! I’m here! Julia Strousberg at your service!” she offered a hand towards Kate who merely stared at it in confusion. Bartenders didn’t tend to introduce themselves before pouring you a drink. She and Doug exchanged a glance, the soldier also caught off guard by this behaviour. The Major, however, took it in stride, taking the hand and shaking it vigorously.
“Pleasure to meet you, my dear! I am Major Stanley Morrison and I am a pilot escorting this lovely couple and their chaperone through the region and we are in need of lodgings! The gentleman serving me before said there are rooms to rent here?”
“Oh! Um, yes! There are two apartments upstairs! I’d be happy to give them to you for, um, 200kr a piece!” she beamed at them, seemingly pulling the numbers from the air. Kate was eyeing the woman up now, her stare boring into her so hard you could expect a hole to open up in her forehead. The blonde was clearly unsettled by it but was putting on a brave face.
“200kr seems very cheap…” Kate began.
“This is Polaris. You can’t expect City of Light prices down here!” Julia laughed.
“…How’d you know we were from the City?”
“It, err, was just an example?”
“Hmm, and you’d just give it to us like that? No paperwork, no questions asked?”
“I really need the money? I mean, just look at this place…” she swept her hand around the room, letting Kate soak in the ramshackle nature of the establishment. Kate’s face remained emotionless but she didn’t speak further, Doug taking over negotiations.
“200 sounds great. Not sure how long we’ll be here, mind. Lots to see and do!”
“Oh? Would you like any recommendations for your trip? I think you’ll find I’m quite knowledgable!”
“Canyon Forest,” this came from Gratin, the mage having blurted it out and was now coming to the realisation that he was now the centre of attention. He shrunk back a little as The Major and Julia turned to look at him. Kate came to his rescue.
“We hear the Southern Lights are especially pretty from on top of the canyon. We thought we’d like to check it out.”
“Are they?” asked Stanly, the old man surprised. Julia, however, took this in her stride.
“Yes, they certainly are. How about I get you a map, hmm?” she winked at the mercenaries and ducked back out the back for a moment, returning with a detailed map of the area. There were handwritten notes scrawled across it with different shops and businesses ringed in red pen. Her interest peaking, Kate leaned in for a better look as Julia spread it across the counter.
“Interesting what people find important sometimes…” she muttered as her index finger tapped a building marked “Icepick’s Arms Emporium”. Julia chuckled nervously.
“Polaris is filled with polar bears and gods knows what else. I recommend checking it out. For safety,” Kate had returned to watching Julia like a hawk, the red head judging her every move.
“Thanks, I think I will,” Kate eventually stated, still not looking away. Doug, having learnt to trust his companion’s read on people, sidled up behind her and took up a more intimidating stance, his arms crossed over his chest, in a bid to dissuade the barmaid in case she wasn’t what she seemed. He wasn’t getting a hostile air from her though. Everything just felt off. Gratin was less worried, however, the Mage turning his attention onto the map.
Is what we are looking for on there? His voice filled Kate’s head, the gunslinger glancing down to check for the little pentagon that had represented his pursuers on the other map only to find on this one it looked more like a spiderweb. The green “G” logo was present but handwriting on the map had completed the name. “Genetix”.
Kate nodded, Gratin turning his attention to Julia.
“May we keep this map?” Gratin asked, his voice betraying an eagerness that took Julia aback. She rallied, clearing her throat.
“Um, I think I have a spare so sure. Help yourself!”
“Thanks! Is it alright if we see the apartment now, Pet? Didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night and I think me and my mates would like a bite to eat and a nap to be honest!” this came from Doug, the man laughing to break any lingering tension. The barmaid smiled and nodded.
“Certainly! This way!”
Post by Sam | November 19, 2022 at 12:01 am | The Mercenaries' Tale | No comment
Tags: Blaise, Doug McCracken, Frozen Bluffs, Gratin, Icepick's Arms Emporium, Julia, Kate O'Donnell, Major Stanley Morrison, Neon Arachnid, Polaris, Shopping, the Mercs