RETCONNED Who: Dalia and Ollie, OPEN to crew members of their respective ships Where: New Hall, a bar When: Mid-morning Summary: A small late-night chat Rating: PG-13 for not so nice language and potential violence Status: Ongoing
Her ship looked dead and lifeless when it was grounded, something that Dalia couldn't get her head around. It was the same metal hull, the same bulky build. She had no illusions about the heart of the ship, she was far from sentimental. But still the impression lingered, clinging to her like some sort of disease--the kind that could only be washed with liquor.
On any other day, she might have stayed in to drink, but New Hall was safely tucked away from Alliance cruisers. Besides, the bottles on the ship were all empty. She had checked before grudgingly stepping out into the port. It wasn't half as bad as some of the places they'd been to, but then New Hall was still being touted as a viable residence for colonizers. There was some time to go yet before they fucked it up like all the other terraformed moons.
Dalia made her way through tradesmen and pickpockets, easily picking one out from the other. The nearest tavern beckoned with gaudy paper lanterns and cartoon signs plastered to the windows. Privacy was a hard-earned right. Go halfway across known territory and you could buy it for the price of engine grease. It was true of every new colony, at least in the beginning.
Keeping her eyes averted from the security cameras she knew were built into the ceiling fans, Dalia took a seat by the bar. It was easier to ignore the hush as she walked in than to keep herself from sizing up the other patrons. Rezek had the contacts on this rock, not her, and she wasn't looking for a fight. Not until they were ready to pack the Nekhbet up, at the very least.
Straddling a chair, she let the leather of her coat hang open just enough to show the gun holstered at her hip. If anyone wanted a chat, at least that way they'd know what they were in for.