Creighton Lang pushed through the large doors of the aptly-name Diamond Bar. Well, perhaps 'pushed' wasn't the right word, too aggressive. He sauntered through, looking gruff and unshaven, but not entirely as a tramp. His clothes weren't ragged, per se, but they certainly weren't new. At least not when in comparison to the freshly-tailored suits of the guards that seemed to him somehow out of place. He felt like he was in a mix between his favorite cigar lounge and a night club from some cyber-punk film with too big a budget. If those few people now occupying the bar saw how much he stood out amongst the foppery, he did not notice. Grateful that he had waited for an hour when he thought the place would be dead, remembering the ceremony of his first appearance not a week ago, he made his way to the bar.
He swiveled the red-topped stool halfway towards him and slipped into the seat as he made eye contact with the bartender. Silently, the subject of Lang's attentions inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"Gin and tonic, if you please. Make it dry."
The bartender nodded, and, in a customary fashion as old as the drink itself, got to work without any further adieu. Creighton sat back a bit, and brought his hand to his stubbled face with a slight sigh. His eyes found their way to the finery along the ceiling as he dimly recalled a story he heard in Canterbury station some years back: The gin and tonic was the invention of ancient mariners back on Earth. During the expansion of the ancient British Empire, it'd be conceived of as as much a remedy as a drink for dulling the senses. Tonic water contains quinine (a natural cure for a disease known as 'Malaria'), the Vitamin C to combat something known as 'scurpy' or 'scurcy' or some such, and the gin. Well, he'd already known what gin was for. A grin crept across his lips as he recalled the enthusiasm with which the young Bretonian had relayed that particular trivia.
"Mr Lang?" the bartender shook him out of his memory by placing the drink before his patron, and Creighton looked back down to what was immediately in front of him.
"Oh, yes, sorry about that." he explained as he took his drink from the barkeep. "What do I owe?"
The bartender smiled and held up his hand "We value our members far more than that, sir."
Lang diverted his eyes, somewhat abashed at having forgot, and smiled a bit "Of course. Please, let me leave you a tip, at least." Producing his credit chip from his pocket, Creighton transferred some hundred credits to the general tip fund in the bar. The tender, bowing his head in thanks, moved on to whatever tasks he had to perform. Lang watched him go for but a moment and sipped his drink. Damn good. Leaning forward, he slipped easily back into his own thoughts. He was a rich man now, Kruger had seen to that, and Herr Mark Hamann had invited him into a lap of luxury such that he'd never known before. He'd make a point to find the man and thank him once again for the opportunity. He idly wondered how much the staff here was paid. Enough to keep them from stealing the inlays, he thought with a smirk. Shaking the idea from his head he turned his eyes to the rest of the lounge. While it would take some time for him to become accustomed to such finery, it was not something he would shy away from.
