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Post by Sheri on Oct 2, 2021 14:32:12 GMT -5
"I need a drink and a gun. Maybe not in that order."
Those were the words that Sheri had said before trudging back through the forest and to East City. She could have flown, but she wanted the time to think and get her head together. There has been a lot that had happened since her arrival on this planet which has worked directly against the recovery effort she was supposed to be undertaking.
It wasn't even that she disagreed with the Interim Command that she should try to get her head back together. She might not be the genius that so many of her people were, but she was under no illusions about the state of her mental and physical health. Ever since she left the Wild Beans behind, though, she kept wondering how many of them would be dead by the time she returned. Fighting had wound down compared to the heights it had reached over her decade plus of service, but that didn't mean it wasn't still dangerous. Even discounting the Saiyans, the roving bands of mercenary thugs and vicious wildlife of the Saiba Wastes took their own tolls on the Tuffle natives.
But the sense of powerlessness she'd experienced when she was faced with the monstrous threats in the forest had her feeling just sick. So by the time she got back from the forests the short woman, drenched in mud and muck, had made her decision. Those hard-worn combat boots of hers took her to the first weapon store she found.
And after a brief argument, those same boots took her to Atomic Ales.
The diminutive woman made quite the sight. It was harder than ever to mistake her for a kid. Mostly because the arms of her fatigues have been ripped clean off to reveal her heavily scarred arms, the undeniable muscle there, and the hint of the adult frame that lay beneath the usually shapeless fatigues.
There was also the matter of the gun. A hefty-looking weapon. The N52B was an older Tuffle model ki-ignition rifle that she'd been surprised to find on this backwater world. Since it required ki to focus and charge, though, it was no more deadly than a paperweight to most of the residents of this planet. She, though, could admire its beauty. The weapon was designed to last; meant to stand up to the demands of prolongued combat without suffering the technical failures that its more advanced counterparts were liable to experience due to their more delicate parts. Sure, it meant the rifle demanded more of its wielder in turn, but these things were a two-way street.
She slammed the weapon down onto the bar as she hauled her mud-slick form onto the stool, and snapped her fingers to grab the attention of the bartender.
"Liquor. Hard as you've got. Leave the bottle."
Before he could laugh too hard, she slapped down a thick roll of zeni. She was sick of not being taken seriously on this planet. She had years of accumulated pay and she was supposed to be burning it on chilling out, wasn't she?
That shut the barman up at least. He poured her a generous helping of some foul-smelling brown liquid and he did, indeed, leave the bottle.
But it also got the attention of some of the rougher regulars. Large humans who towered over the tiny Tuffle commando, and were already beginning to close in; probably wondering how much more money would fall out of her if they shook her by the ankles...
(Wordcount: 590 / Powerlevel 6000)
Those were the words that Sheri had said before trudging back through the forest and to East City. She could have flown, but she wanted the time to think and get her head together. There has been a lot that had happened since her arrival on this planet which has worked directly against the recovery effort she was supposed to be undertaking.
It wasn't even that she disagreed with the Interim Command that she should try to get her head back together. She might not be the genius that so many of her people were, but she was under no illusions about the state of her mental and physical health. Ever since she left the Wild Beans behind, though, she kept wondering how many of them would be dead by the time she returned. Fighting had wound down compared to the heights it had reached over her decade plus of service, but that didn't mean it wasn't still dangerous. Even discounting the Saiyans, the roving bands of mercenary thugs and vicious wildlife of the Saiba Wastes took their own tolls on the Tuffle natives.
But the sense of powerlessness she'd experienced when she was faced with the monstrous threats in the forest had her feeling just sick. So by the time she got back from the forests the short woman, drenched in mud and muck, had made her decision. Those hard-worn combat boots of hers took her to the first weapon store she found.
And after a brief argument, those same boots took her to Atomic Ales.
The diminutive woman made quite the sight. It was harder than ever to mistake her for a kid. Mostly because the arms of her fatigues have been ripped clean off to reveal her heavily scarred arms, the undeniable muscle there, and the hint of the adult frame that lay beneath the usually shapeless fatigues.
There was also the matter of the gun. A hefty-looking weapon. The N52B was an older Tuffle model ki-ignition rifle that she'd been surprised to find on this backwater world. Since it required ki to focus and charge, though, it was no more deadly than a paperweight to most of the residents of this planet. She, though, could admire its beauty. The weapon was designed to last; meant to stand up to the demands of prolongued combat without suffering the technical failures that its more advanced counterparts were liable to experience due to their more delicate parts. Sure, it meant the rifle demanded more of its wielder in turn, but these things were a two-way street.
She slammed the weapon down onto the bar as she hauled her mud-slick form onto the stool, and snapped her fingers to grab the attention of the bartender.
"Liquor. Hard as you've got. Leave the bottle."
Before he could laugh too hard, she slapped down a thick roll of zeni. She was sick of not being taken seriously on this planet. She had years of accumulated pay and she was supposed to be burning it on chilling out, wasn't she?
That shut the barman up at least. He poured her a generous helping of some foul-smelling brown liquid and he did, indeed, leave the bottle.
But it also got the attention of some of the rougher regulars. Large humans who towered over the tiny Tuffle commando, and were already beginning to close in; probably wondering how much more money would fall out of her if they shook her by the ankles...
(Wordcount: 590 / Powerlevel 6000)
