Now Calix felt why the doorsign was up there. Not really a subtle hint. He was trying to play it cool. Stay cool. But a gun below the table ought to make everyone nervous, to some degree, anyway.
"Bodies, fear and mostly myself aren't game for an answer anymore, I suppose. Well.
I dropped out of the business shortly after the Samarran Mercenary wing was dissolved. Had the chance of working with an Outcast militia, but eh. Rookies. not my thing.
Made a living off bunch of the more, .. eh, let's say extreme kind of sniffers. I still carry one of their pilot's initials."
He noticed quickly his past isn't as illustrious as he imagined, a rather young pilot, a hand for combat, not for quickly inventing three and a half years of lifetime.
The card.
"And this card ... is that very initial."
While its front side was nothing but a regular card, the backside had a special print on it. Instead of the "Ace of clubs" face, the silhouette of a ship would appear.
A Sabre. Turned towards the viewer, as if it was the last thing he saw.
"Why the R's ? Perfect job, perfect pay. And certainly more fun than a bunch of weirdo drug fanatics."
He eased out in his seat, took a swift look around the bar, shortly rested his eyes on Umbers drink.
Then, looked straight into her eyes.
