Factions, Families, Clans, and Empires
A group of tenacious bounty hunters who will work for anybody. Just provide enough credits.
General InformationFull Name:
Tarik Cemal AliidTitle:
18 Terran years,
34 as SadikGender:
Physical InformationApparent Age:
BrownGlasses or Contacts:
Continental, tapered 'white-walls' along the sides and back of his head.Weight:
1.94 mSkin Tone:
FuckMode of Transportation:
Whatever he doesn't have to flyHabits: Drinking:
Yawning in private, tapping his feet, whispering devotions.Optimist or Pessimist?
PessimistIntrovert or Extrovert?
ExtrovertLogical or Emotional?
LogicalBusiness or Pleasure?
Can be.Greatest Strength:
Quick wit and deft hands.Greatest Weakness:
Getting paid and getting la-well, you get the idea.Philosophy:
God is great, but so is cash.Pressure Point:
Dead comradesIs this obvious?
Not always.Most comfortable when
sleeping or flying.Least comfortable when
praying or flying.Religion:
Former Caliphate infantryman and pilot, now socialist sympathizer.
With a rather pleased sigh, a casual man, clad in a armor cast in an odd hue of beige, entered the establishment, seeming much smaller than the other armored individual who happened into the bar minutes before. If he recalled correctly this was the place, and he did have some room for error, Tarik did have more pressing issues on his mind the night before. That wasn't to say, of course, that he disregarded his superior's words, rather that sometimes his priorities got... shuffled.
Glancing about at the place, his eyes, hidden behind the visor of his helmet, rested on several of the patrons, though they lingered for a moment longer on the two women who seemed to be blathering some banter about a birthday -- whatever that was -- before they placed themselves upon his employer. Ah! Perhaps he wouldn't look as much of a fool as he feared. Striding lithely across the floor, Aliid made as little noise as he could with his quick strides, approaching Ronan's left flank as he greeted him, his hands together, fingers intertwined, as he spoke, offering him a slight bow as he did, "Salaam, boss."
The Sadik man returned the gesture, striking his hand into his employer's with some force, the kinetic energy behind such an act causing, with a light ring, the shaking of the identity disks worn on his pauldron. This wasn't the first time he had done such a thing, the trenches of Lao-Qing's siege still fresh in his mind, even if it was seven years prior. Seventeen of his battle-brothers he lost within thirty minutes of being deployed, only surviving by being buried under their strewn carcasses, thrown about by the thunderous artillery of the Coalition.
He could still smell them.
Mentally shaking the image, he smiled to Ronan as the visor retracted with a violent start, revealing a tanned face sported a toothy grin as the man moved to take a seat beside him. "I'm sorry to hear, but God provides all in good time..." His voice, however, was interrupted by the next question, and with a face showing his poorly suppressed emotion, burst into a laugh a hint lighter than his friend's base chortle.
"... even in such an endeavor!" He turned his eyes back to the bar with a grin, looking to the holographic menu in particular. Flitting through the menus idly with an armored finger, he finally decided on rather pleasant cup of coffee -- God knows he needed such a thing. "It goes, no doubt. I'd beg your forgiveness for my lax nature yesterday, I had one on the mind."
Tarik continued in his amiable state, smiling and conversing with his boss until he turned with a start towards the women further down the bar, deeper in the establishment. Blinking for a moment, Aliid glanced to his employer and the bar for a moment before leaning over so that he might glance past the larger man, looking down the length of the bar as he stooped to the edge of the counter. "I do appreciate it, Sa'iq..." However, he was much less concerned now with his employer's forgiveness as he was his newfound fascination with these two women.
"I never thought you'd fancy smaller women, Ronan." However, the thoughts of profit soon rode the air to his ears and Tarik's eyes widened several degrees, the whites of the organs contrasting intriguingly with his skin tone. "... or we could do that." His left hand, at this, slid to his side. He only carried one of his sidearms with him out in public, certainly not his grenade launcher, though he still bore his blades... they didn't seem like they'd be much of an issue, if they really possessed the 'metric fuckton of money'... such odd terms the people around here used. Whatever the case, it sounded like quite a bit.
Resistance would, hopefully, not prove a part of the equation. "We wont have to kill them, will we?" He whispered now, his smile having left as his mouth was drawn to one side. Tarik, even as mercenary as he was, disliked killing women. Something didn't click about it with him.
Tarik did as he was told, the visor still remaining raised as he leaned back, unsure how to act in the immediate sense. For a moment he simply watched as Ronan stood and carried himself over to the two, and Tarik, tapping the heavy finger on the bar roughly ten times, soon quickly sprung to his feet. What was he thinking, missing an opportunity like this? A possible job and women in the same package? He really was losing his thoughts recently. He proved a deal quieter than his employer as he slid up to his left flank yet again, standing several inches shorter, appearing with something of a start. Quick and quiet, that's how he liked things.
He didn't do much, just sat by as Ronan made his offer, leaving the talking to the boss. It was his business after all, no need to muddle things up with his choices. He, instead of the rather powerful stance Ronan chose, decided to place his arms behind his back, standing at parade rest as he, along with his employer, awaited a response.
He really didn't want to shoot anyone today, he still felt a tinge of sleep gnawing at his eyes. Though, he was to blame for not getting much sleep the night prior...
Tarik's brows raised as the situation seemed to take a turn for the worse as his left had returned, silently, to his sidearm, fingering the charging release on the weapon as he waited to see how things would (d)evolve from here. The last thing he wanted to get today was violent, thought Ronan's signal did little to encourage any hope in that area. Aliid, unlike his superior, was not so confident, recalling easily the cut of a Coalition bayonet in his gullet.
Didn't really want to go back to that.
Thinking for a moment, Tarik's lips pursed as he gauged, from their responses, what these women were. Obviously they were keen on being entitled to their own opinion, and no doubt pessimistic. A shame, they didn't look as old as they sounded. Stepping forward, lightly touching Ronan's left arm as he did, he decided to speak. His accent was obvious, though it didn't impede his speech, "... you must forgive him." He apologized for his superior's heavy-handedness, though he still held a hand on his weapon, not without caution, "What he means, miss... es, is that we certainly don't mean you any ill intention. Purely business. I'm sure there is some agreement we could reach."
Pursed lips were the immediate response garnered from Tarik at Ari's continued irritability, and were it not interrupted with his employers words, his sidearm likely would've been drawn. He didn't like killing people, but such wouldn't stop him if the situation demanded it. Especially when he could avert another's death, especially his employer's. However, the situation seemed to be resolved, if not in an unsatisfactorily manner, with the words of both the other woman and Ronan. His armor heaved a degree from the sigh that escaped him, he offered the more talkative woman another glance as he raised a hand as if he tried to calm her down.
"Pardon, then. I tend not to mix business and pleasure." His hand still rested on his weapon, though he backed away, speaking as he did, "My apologies, I didn't mean to come across as rude." Terran women had fire about them, and so angry. Why so angry? Every one of them he'd met recently was rather pessimistic. It was a wonder their species survived at all.
Tarik's immediate concern was, of course, for his employer, and he watched with a worried eye as his armor took superficial damage from some unknown source. The Imams had warned about things like this, D'jinn who could strike without warning or cause, and his eyes flashed to the women for a moment before he saw that Ronan, though his pride was bruised, was otherwise uninjured. Perhaps things weren't as bad as he initially figured, and with a sigh he relaxed somewhat, his grip loosening on his pistol from what it was only but a moment earlier. It was at this that he actually bothered to begin listening again, and with a smirk, he offered the woman a slight bow of his head. They might not be so bad, after all. Just give them some berth.
"Then I would be pleased to accept such an invitation, when time allows." He was, after all, needed by his captain. "But for now, salaam." He offered another bow to them as he soon rushed to Ronan's side, picking up the spare pieces of armor that had fallen off of his cuirass.
The tanned man, though one would have a hard time telling beneath his armor, trailed close behind his much taller employer, the more lithe armor proving to maneuver into the bar quite a degree easier than Ronan's. Following his signal, Aliid strode in, his left hand still resting on his sidearm as he approached -- figuring better safe than sorry -- as he looked about the place, largely waiting on Ronan's assessment on the matters before he formed his own opinions, though he was inclined to return the wave of the young woman.
"So long as there aren't any... incidents today." He referred, of course, to Ari's psychic capabilities. He didn't want a rerun of that.
Tarik, as quick witted and skilled as he could be at times, rarely understood the hustle and bustle of the establishment known as Gambit's, and today proved no different. With a glance to Ronan, who informed him of his new job, he soon drew his sidearm from its holster and his right arm felt the twitch to unsheathe one of his machetes, though he waited on such. Rather he stuck close to his superior, ready, should the time come, to do as he was told.
Not that he knew what the Hell was going on.
Why is it that these Terrans have to be so damn weird?
Tarik Cemal Aliid quickly sped into action, securing his grip on his superior's armor with his right hand and threw his weight into dragging him back, the smaller man hoping that the grandiose effort would pay off. Ready, still, was the handgun, should anyone try and take advantage of the two while Ronan was on the ground.
"No problem, boss." Tarik added, looking about and still trying to ascertain just what the Hell was going on. All he knew is that, one second, they were coming in for a drink, and the next Ronan is activating the zero-gee boosters of his armor and telling him to drag him down. Needless to say, it would've been ugly if he hadn't done his job there, but it was, as the name would imply, his job. "... I don't blame you."
Now that his right hand was no longer needed it sat on his hip, ready to dart to one of the blades sported on his back, as his left held the firearm steadily towards his superior's target. Hopefully there'd be some profit in this, somewhere.
Tarik, behind the security of his helmet's visor, glanced awkwardly about, shifting his gaze from Gina to Ronan, then back to Gina. The weapon was still readied on his target, though it seemed like she was in no shape to resist further, and he, curious about things, largely waited on Ronan to make any sort of diplomatic move here. PR was, usually, more Tarik's job, but in this case he was still a bit slow.
With a squint Tarik looked over the text that appeared in the corner of his display, and immediately he though back to the other day, though his thoughts might've been misplaced. His weapon was lowered as it seemed that no longer was Gina that much of a viable threat. Rather he turned to investigate the place at large, as Ronan instructed, and he milled about, making sure that things. He wasn't entirely distracted though as, listening in on Ronan's comms, he turned to look to Wren as he introduced the Sadik man and offered her a spare wave. Hopefully things would slow down from here and he'd have a chance to properly assess the situation.
At the behest of Ronan he slid the weapon back into its holster, sighing as he did. Any day where he didn't have to waste ammunition was a good one, though he'd much rather be able to throw that caution to the wind and just buy more. The downside of not having any jobs, he supposed. Meandering over to his employer and Wren, he took immediately to one of the holographic menus and selected, after a moment's deliberation, a cup of coffee. He still had some qualms with drinking alcohol, though he hoped to be over that before too long.
After all, the Union's stance on such matters was much more lax than the Caliphate's.
His own helmet's visor slid back with a violent action, revealing the bronze skinned Sadik underneath, who glanced down and looked to Wren as he awaited her response. No need to jump into the conversation just yet.
Tarik, in his usual nature, was quite keen to come by Gambit's, especially by now, considering that it had been some time since he had, for lack of a better term, enjoyed the company of a more fair individual. That's not to be said, however, that he didn't appreciate Ronan's, or any of his other comrades for that matter, but it was just that Tarik felt the need to get out. Though he was sure that didn't stop Ronan, were it that he wanted to follow.
His employer hunted jobs like he did women.
With a sigh he entered, clad in much more casual attire this time -- though he still bore his sidearm under his shoulder -- and looked about the place. Largely empty, again. Surprising, considering the establishment's reputation.
Leaning back in the seat, Tarik allowed a rather lengthy sigh to escape him as the folds of the seat's cushion mold itself to his form. Damn this felt good. Given, so did his bunk after wearing armor for well over twelve hours, but this was different. The Sadik man allowed his tan fingers to extend to their full length, holding them for a few moments at such a point before collapsing them back into fists.
One never appreciated the freedom of movement a body allowed until they were stuck in a veritable can for a few hours.
Tapping the table now, he offered another glance to the place at large, especially after Ronan spoke, and the bastard Scatterran squinted. "... can't tell yet. She seems..." He pondered, his accent coming through now moreso than when he was clad in his suit, "... unhappy. I'll give her some time." So to say, he'd wait and see if anything better cropped up to try at. For now, he was content to enjoy his off-time, and hopefully eat something that wasn't prefabricated.
Tarik wore a reflective expression, his lips pursed as he nodded in agreement, and soon enough he spoke, recalling as best he could their last encounter. "I do remember her, good features. I'd be up for it, even if it's confusing." He spoke the truth there, he never really caught on to just what the situation was, but he was glad that none of them had come out with any sort of serious injury. He hated lazing about, that is, unless there was a pretty face nearby.
"Just wait until you start flying, boss." He offered a chuckle at the thought, knowing how he loved and hated the feeling of a beast beneath him. "It only gets worse." Those things could save you -- deliver you from the greatest danger -- and at the same time place you into situations that, otherwise, would've seemed absurd.
With a curious glance, however, his thoughts were distracted as he looked to his employer, "... Ronan, interested in a woman? And she doesn't fire cartridges?"
Tarik recoiled somewhat at the thought, though his mind immediately went to the witch, as he had taken to calling her, who had damaged Ronan's armor. "Stubborn, eh? The only ones who I've met like that weren't too keen on us." His look revealed the humor he regarded the situation with, especially his eyes, as he kept a straight face, looking to him with the rather ridiculous glare in between stabs at the menu. He shook his head, however, at the thought of zero-gee combat, and he offered only one simple retort, "... flat spin, Ronan. Gravity's where things get... scary." He huffed some at the last word, both intending a hint of humor and severity with it.
Though such severity was lost with the next question, which ushered an outright chuckle from the Sadik, answering only when he had finished and thought for a moment. "... I do love flying, but if you meant women..." He paused, shrugging himself, "I have yet to meet her."
For the most part he had concentrated on his comrade, not noticing, entirely, Eshe's arrival, consumed rather in conversation, though with her intervention he certainly did. His own brown eyes widened a hair as he offered her a glance, though the lingered only for a moment on her face as they involuntarily traced her figure. By God, this one was a looker. Instinctively one of his hands reached for the collar of his shirt, its stand-and-fall nature unlike the traditional one he had spent fiddling with in the trenches with his brothers in the army of the Caliphate. "It's uh..." He muttered, not expecting any here to speak the tongue, if bastardized, of the Sadik. "... nothing. Pardon me."
He offered a slight bow of his close-shaven head to her, hoping that his presence was an offense to such a fine specimen, even if she wasn't Sadik!
"Salaam." He spoke, whispering almost, humbled in the presence of such a woman. Perhaps this was the product of one of the many offshoot cultures of the ancient Caliphate, otherwise it was something of a cleverly-poised trap for the mercenary. Surely she was of noble birth, or if not at least one of great renown, to afford such opulence! It was incomprehensible!... and she offered him her hand?
By God, how he delivered!
Tarik was cautious to move, only after a moment allowing his hand to take hers, shaking softly as he did, though, knowing Tarik, he got an idea. The idiot man, as skilled as he was, always got ideas. He drew it in and placed a light kiss on it, his head lowered as he did, not meeting her gaze as he really was thinking she must be of some nobility. "Tarik." He answered, his head still bowed, "Is mine."
The man's eyes darted about the room as she offered a deeper bow than earlier, only having moments before related to her that the pleasure was his, to be sure, and he, understandably, couldn't help but look to her. Such revealing and elegant clothing was unheard of in the Caliphate, save for the most elite circles, and for such a woman to make displays towards a prole such as himself, it was, in a word, humbling. "... i-it's no trouble." He stammered, "He was here on business, regardless."
Though something that unnerved him a bit was her asking of forgiveness striking him, in a way, with a foreign name. Kehti? Odd that one so fine would pursue a pagan God. Regardless, he'd been with much worse and accepted the offer, "And it is most freely given, Eshe." His curiosity, however, couldn't be resisted as he inquired of the creature, "... from where do you hail?"
The vague answer, though unsatisfactory to Tarik's interests, didn't cause him any displeasure, though he was sure such a thing was descended from the context of the dialogue. "Aldodra." The world's name came without need for coaxing from the man, who was more than willing to divulge of his past, save his early time in the service. Such was an era of his life that he took little pleasure in acknowledging. "Of the Caliphate."
The words of another interrupted his thoughts, though, as the Aschen known to many as Marlene spoke, insinuating their conduct was of an unsavory nature. In response he raised his hands, as if to calm an offended party, "Your pardon, madam, but we are just having a conversation." He held his tongue concerning matters of privacy, however, as it was considered, in the Caliphate at least, very rude to impose oneself on another's business. Privacy was a prized commodity, considering the abounding nature of their population.
Were one not invited, it was simply not their place.
The white of Tarik's eyes contrasted heavily with his dark complexion as they widened, picking up the slack for his solid jaw. A brief glance was offered to Eshe before he looked to the rest of the bar. Well, Ronan wouldn't get the chance to see Tarik getting dragged off for a change, and not the other way around. Following as best he could, he didn't want such a chance to leave him behind, especially concerning that the only other thing awaiting him was a scarred and rough suit of battlearmor. With a shit-eating grin he eloped with the Sorukan to the more secluded areas of the place, perhaps there they would have some privacy from leering Aschen eyes.