Kacey removed the sunglasses as she passed by the security checkpoint. Last time she was here, she was accepted into the Reaver Merc. Co. and saw a ninja. And guns. And her boss, sitting and drinking while it all unfolded. Normal? Yes. After these days flying around and going into some serious storms, replaying that event in her head started to seem normal.
She trailed the bar with her eyes on the entrance and saw a couple of known faces, namely Pat and the weird one called Gumdrop. With some easy steps, she arrived at the bar counter near Patriotic and sat like she needed the rest.
The bartender, a man named O'Reilly, clearly loved by the usual customers, with a thick Molly accent, nodded at her direction and she said:
"A beer."
As Kacey stretched herself in the seat, she noticed Patriotic wasn't one for a talk. Some of the Reavers were like that. Some were boisterous and happy go-lucky, others kept to themselves. Diverse, like Sirius. And trained well in the art of killing. After all, how the hell they would even manage to go in some of the worst case scenarios in a fight, just like the one they had in Omega-7, where her second-hand Bayo got busted up by a lucky mine.
With a sigh and missing already her old ship, the beer arrived and she took a sip, enjoying the coolness for a second. Or two.
