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."
