Diamonds and Ashes

[sindroms]

The arrival of yet another person was mostly unnoticed by the rest of the patrons. Alcatraz was a relatively large installation, being gifted with bigger and smaller establishments specifically designed to raise one's alcohol content, though it was always the smaller and more quiet ones which offered the most comfort and least chance of ending up trapped between two raid parties during some heated argument. It was exactly this reason while Mr. Mort was standing at the entrance to the bar, his lean frame made modest by a highly plain Rogue attire. The same gray and leather-brown vest as most other Rogues would wear- a simple stylized red scull embedded on the right breast.

Some pairs of eyes lifted up from their drinks or holo-pads, only to go back to whichever point in space they were staring...though some did give a barely notable but respectable nod. The warlord of the Rogues had a rather odd status within the group those days. For most wolves and rookies and even for sizable part of veterans his existence was probably even unheard of, but as the Liberty Rogues functioned, it was clear that someone was doing something to keep the volatile mix of bandits, thieves and murderers from shaking themselves apart. And Mort was good at what he did.

Still, his lack of recognisability was made even easier by his looks. That lean frame was almost sickly to the first glance- worn out and slightly slouching, his hair rather long and unkept- a sight made worse by his clearly receding hairline. And yet, and yet still- even the dark circles under his eyes could not distract from a rather stern and calculating gaze, currently fixed upon a man he had seen only as a flickering image in received transmissions. For a moment it seemed that Mort would simply turn about and continue for whatever task it was that he had began, clearly having come to the bar in hopes to find someone else, but even as he swayed to do so, he paused.

Why not.

A few more moments and Mort had made his way towards the counter as well, the bartender already there- very well aware of who it was. Mort did not even need to ask, simply giving a slight nod to the other as he took his spot next to Nathan, his words very simple, very straightforward even though there was a slight rasp to it.

"Mister Blooodrose. Not out and about and causing trouble, I see. Or did you mayhaps ran out of targets?"

He quickly cackled to himself, reaching out for the glass of water the bartender offered, lips pulled back in a rather wide grin as he did. Charismatic was not the first word to describe the current warlord of the Rogues. His state made it rather difficult to even judge his age, but it still was that certain aura around him that would be more than enough proof of who Nathan had encountered- if the voice itself wasn't enough, no doubt already having been heard over many transmissions before. There was no need for introductions, none were offered. It was simply an encountered bound to happen sooner or later.

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