Couple drinks, couple things... [With the captain of Rust.Defiance]

[CaptainAlamo]

[[Docking Procedure Complete]]

A man clad in full flight gear emerged from the cockpit of his Sutinga fighter, stopped at the base of the ladder he'd clamored down, and paused for a moment on the deck of a standard docking bay. After a flick of a tube around his neck, some gas released with a pop and hiss. As if peeling an orange, he slid his helmet forward and removed it from his aching head. It had been a long flight. The man, visibly older, perhaps 50's, perhaps early 40's if Sirius hadn't been kind...slowly made his way up the ramp from the launch pad and into the corridors of Trafalgar Base.

Many thoughts ran through his mind. He was finally picking up some work it seemed. On top of his more previous arrangement, some immediate Freelancing work would go over great about now. The Junker vessel he'd linked up with seemed promising. He walked the corridors towards the bar eagerly, to meet the very captain of that ship who'd offered up some work as an escort. The captain insisted upon a face to face meeting before making proper introductions. The safest jobs usually start out like that, or the most dangerous. But, if he wanted to show his face, couldn't be too bad, right?

As he turned into the bar, the usual dim lighting and neon glows tinted the twist of low booths and tables. It was all souped with a grey haze from the various things smoked there. He took a breath and tried to figure out what exactly he was breathing.

Best not to think about it, he mused to himself with a slight smirk. He was still conscious so that's all that mattered. He looked around and the place was fairly empty. Only a couple of tables near the back had groups gathered in on them, probably card games...he'd hoped. Didn't seem like this captain had made it up from his own ship's landing yet. So he turned and gestured to the barkeep for a glass and began to unzip and unclasp more of his gear, loosening his bloodflow so he could relax. He took a seat at a nearby booth and looked up at some of the telescreens glowing over the bar. Some were usual news, others market stats, and some live station tactical updates. Being so close to Leeds, it was important to keep alert to the possibility of Gallic incursions. They never seemed to have much respect for the Junkers, or anyone they housed. For now though, all was quiet.

He hauled out his pad and thumbed out a quick message on the neural net. Just as he finished, a body finally appeared in the hatchway, and entered the bar...

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