Si vis pacem...

[Char Aznable]

Scrap Eagle Bar, Barrack Deck four, Kreuzberg Depot, New Berlin-System, Rheinland Core Space
27/02/825 AS, 16:45 PM Station time

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The bar was just as crowded as it was dirty. Loud people yelling for the sparsely clad barmaids to refill their drinks, paid for by the daily scrap they were collecting on the back of their ships - which barely fit this description. For all intents and purposes, this bar was a junker bar, complete with the smell that accompanied it.
And that, precisely, was the reason why she had chosen it. Well, to be fair, she hadn't. The Bundschuh had, years ago, when Klugmann had still been calling the shots. The owner of the bar was sympathetic to the cause and had more often than not worked with them, mostly shipping recruits and people that tried to do the more shady side of the party's business around, calling contacts and generally served as a pretty useful individual. Annika herself had, on at least three occasions, been the beneficiary of his services. But despite that, the man had no idea she was here.

She had chosen a slightly off-sight part of the bar for her sitting spot. Sure, there were other Activists here, and she was certain that she had seen at least three white rose pins on the clothing of some people, but this was hardly her first time being around people she knew without being recognized. She leaned against the wall, one leg stood up on the bench next to her, leasurely watching the rest of the room through half-closed eyes hidden by the shadow of the wall behind her. Sure, it was cliché, but it worked. Nobody dared approach her, despite the fact that she had made good on her promise that she hadn't brought any weapons.
One of the reasons why nobody approached her, though, was courtesy. The place she sat in was the traditional resting place of the contact Bruchsal maintained on the station in case there needed to be an interview. Whoever she'd be talking to later, it would just look like one of the sects was trying to hire new muscle, an occurence so common that not even the members of the Festung were paying attention to it. Plus the fact that her black hair was much longer than it used to be, and with her eyes obscured the only feature she had in common with Rheinland's most wanted woman alive was the tattoo on her chin.
She eyed the man at the bar, who was quietly sipping his drink. Michael Wolf, the only person she trusted enough to bring him along as a bodyguard. He had chosen a spot where he could overlook the parts of the bar that she couldn't, but the trenchcoat and shirt he was wearing, collar up and sunken in, identified him as a Klugmannist. Sure, that wasn't exactly correct, but it made recognizing him much harder. Nothing about their demeanour identified them as being here for the same reason, they had even arrived at different times. For the purposes of the other Bundschuh in this bar, Nika Haupt and Michael Wolf were still in hiding, somewhere obscure.
Which brought up a question. Would they be able to recognize her? She knew that the people she intended to meet, despite being on relatively good terms with the Junkers, avoided this bar. Too many idealists here, hot-headed Eistochterists wearing the green pseudo-uniform adorned with the sun that she had used as her symbol, debate-loving Klugmannists constantly on the hunt for someone to convert to their cause, and the regular brawls between them and other major Bundschuh thinking schools weren't doing much for the appeal of the establishment either. She smirked slightly at the fact that she had created one of those 'schools' of her own, even though no members of it appeared to be here right now. At least none that openly signalled it with their clothing. Another look to the clock in the upper corner of the bar. 1700. The time of the meeting. She knew that her bodyguard at the bar was already ready to interfere with anything funny, but she still steeled herself if it would come to a heated discussion. A coin wandered on the table, currently showing the eagle on it's backside. Her hand, black and dull as if made from dark matter, lay next to it. The barman nodded in her direction. He didn't know who she was, but he knew what this signal meant. One turn of the coin, and he'd escort whoever was talking to her out of the establishment.
It seemed that rituals still had their place in Rheinland's underbelly.

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#notmyfrankfurt