Who: Dalia and Caro Where: Evesdown Docks, Persephone When: All the way back in 2512 Summary: Dalia has cargo. Caro has buyers. Rating: PG-13 Status: Ongoing
The winds had picked up during the night, beating against the hull of the ship like debris in space. It had the virtue of being a calming sort of disturbance. Dalia listened to the groans and pangs of the Nekhbet throughout the night, lulled into a strange sort of stupor that became sometime in the mid-morning hours. It was much later than she usually would have slept, but that was immaterial. Persephone operated according to its own timezones. Traders of interest didn't show up with the early birds, that would have been poor business.
Gun strapped to her thigh and word left with Bronis that she wouldn't be gone long, and Dalia slipped into the noon heat. The docks were full, teeming with passengers looking for transport and pickpockets looking for viable targets. It was easy to tell apart one from the other, if you knew where to look. How to read their wondering easy. It was a harder task to pick out the buyers with enough credits to make any sort of deal interesting--but not so interesting that they'd snap handcuffs around your wrists. And not in the fun sense, either.
There were a few pigeons to spot, their body language much too relaxed for any of them to be anything but plants for a bigger operation. She steered clear, took an abrupt turn and came to face a gun display, at least a dozen stalls lined up with all manner of firepower and no permit needed for purchase. Beauties, all of them, to be sure, but a rarity to see so much metal filed clear of any ID. Stolen goods. Interesting.
She approached the stalls like a curious buyer, attention engaged by the figures competing against one another to slash prices. To push their goods on anyone interested. Not only stolen goods, then, but also hot. Maybe, a voice at the back of her mind whispered perversely, they were Alliance issue. Maybe she was crediting the head of that operation with too much brains.