<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/r1Jckqn.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Vane<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Outside Afterlife<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>OPEN<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Maelstrommers getting dunked on<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>The Solo everyone knew as<em>Vane Redbeard</em>was a common sight at Afterlife. Having been involved in the Merc scene long enough to be one of the big names in the Biz it was not surprising it had become his drinking establishment of choice. It was also a great place to be when work came up. He was generally on hand when Rogue was putting together a job. Plus the place just had a charm all of its own, steeped in the history of his people.<em>The Solo's</em>. Plus of course one had to appreciate the general social benefits of frequenting a place like Afterlife. Where else would you meet such a plethora of unique specimens? The denziens of Afterlife were the filthiest breed of brilliant and the wildest incarnation of liberated. Vane had even heard stories from that guy who once drank with Morgan Blackhand.<br/><br/>In days gone by people had commented on his car. They'd joke about how much money he must have or make a quip about the sporty car and his distinctly mismatched appearance. It was always in good fun. Guys being guys. They had been ripping each other on their car since cars were horses. These days only the new kids and the tourists batted an eye when the Redbeard Caliburn pulled up. Sure enough the door slid up and out stepped Vane, those darkened aviators hanging off his face despite the sun long since having gone down and beat up old shirt draped over his equally beat up (and heavily reinforced) vest. Construction worker-chic in a rich man's car. Hopefully Rogue would have some work because running that thing was killing him. No matter. There was always work. His street cred was good as gold. Some prick would hire him just to be able to say they had hired him. Once word got our his enemies would melt away. It had been difficult for someone as generally pleasant as Vane to cultivate a reputation like that but occasionally it let him rake in the eddies without needing to cave someones head it. That being said it was nice to have the option.<br/><br/>"<strong>Here's our gonk!</strong>" He had not taken a step away from the car before someone made the call and earned his attention. Green eyes concealed behind the aviators caught sight of the source quickly enough. A gaunt trio so brutally twisted with cyberware they had been rendered more a caricature of humanity. Maelstrom. A classic fixture of Night City. "<em>Well what do we have here? A busted metal dildo and his two cracked chrome anal bead buddies, what can I do you for?</em>" Vane had about as much time for Maelstrom as he had some shit under his shoe. Both annoyances he prefered to just scrape against the sidewalk. Regardless of his astounding wit the three approached him with all the confidence of men who knew what they were doing. "<strong>Hilarious, should have stuck to comedy. But ye didn't and now someone's paid a whole bunch of eddies to see you dead. We're here to make that happen.</strong>" As if to highlight the severity of his point the lead Maelstrom hard man pulled up big old Lexington handgun, the business end a couple inches from Vane's nose.<br/><br/>Then Vane slapped it out of his hand. To be more precise the state-of-the-art microrotors implanted onto his titanium bones kicked in, allowing him to move his hand faster than should be humanly possible. The hand itself of course being his primary moneymaker with his infamous gorilla arm cyberware. Suffice to say a slap from Vane Redbeard was rather unfortunate thing to experience. With that in mind it was perhaps no surprise the Maelstrom hard man went through a moment of impotent disgrace and shocked pain as his gun came to a rest a few feet away. "<em>Did you walk all the way across the parking lot just to pull a gun on me? Ah lad, you must be thick as shit. Its a gun, it works from across the parking lot. That's the fucking point of a gun.</em>" Vane wasn't angry but he was disappointed. He had hoped men sent to kill him would be of a higher quality. If nothing else out of professional courtesy. No matter. This was the part where things kicked off.<br/><br/>With the dramatic execution ruined & pride wounded the other two Maelstrom boys went to pull their own weapons and avenge the honour of their slighted comrade. Of course at this point they were all within the Irish former Corpo's 'range of murder.' Not that he planned on killing the boys. A firm whoopin' would do just fine. One went to pull out a submachine gun, Vane kicked a boot into his shin and caused him to tumble mid draw, the other he caught with a jab straight to the throat. That one got the worst end of the deal. Vane's gorilla arms were upgraded with the 'animal knuckles' feature. Very sharp. He dropped like a sack of potatoes and started gasping for air. It was at this point the first one hand regained his composure and drew a knife. He was mid swing when Vane caught him with a big, open palmed, full force slap across his metallic face. The Redbeard Solo could almost see the cartoon stars twirling about his head.<br/><br/>Sure enough morale was broken and they decided to try run. 'Big Red' as he was affectionately known by one of his usual Afterlife associates picked up the previously dropped handgun and hurled it after them, cracking one right in the back of the head. Like an athlete who had scored the big point he threw his arms up in the arm and let out a cackle of delight while turning his weight to face what people were standing outside the drinking establishment and enjoying the show. "<em>For fuck sake lads, some start to the night. Didn't think I'd have to deal with that shite until I was well sauced.</em>"