Livadia, The bar
The recent passage of a Nephilim had torn a faint seam in the nebula, allowing the pale light of the yellow dwarf to bathe the station. Donagan let his thoughts drift with the twirling clouds and quiet lightshow until Flintlocke’s reflection resolved in the reinforced glass. He drew one last puff on his pipe and turned to greet his visitor.
“Greetin’s, Mr. Flintlocke. I didnae expect ye this soon. Checkin’ on the progress, are ye?”
He snuffed the pipe and tucked it into one of his many pockets.
“Sae far, all’s goin’ accordin’ tae plan. We’re nailin’ down the last wee details, then we’ll run a few points past Bristol—just tae be sure—since we’ll be commissionin’ more Bulwarks from them.”
