Rum or business?

[Synts]

Flipado!

There he is! I knew that number would get you moving. 38,852 pesos is a small price to pay for premium company, top-shelf rum, and the finest music this side of the Edge Worlds.

Besides, I only drank half of that. The girls? Well... let’s just say they toast to your name now.

I have a bottle ready and maybe a contract too, if we’re still doing business today.
Steve blinked at Cesar with the slow, disoriented grace of a man who had not only lost the plot, but misplaced it in someone else’s cargo bay three nights ago.

He squinted at the pink skull on the bill.
"Juanita has very... expressive handwriting," he mumbled, swaying slightly. “Aurora said she was a freelance accountant, by the way. That sounded legit at the time.”

When Cesar dropped the bill in front of him with the weight of a final judgment, Steve leaned forward, tried to focus, and then gave up entirely.
“Caramba indeed,” he muttered. “I’m not saying I remember everything, but I think we invented a new dance move last night. ”

He straightened up just enough to look serious or at least like he was attempting to simulate seriousness.

"But listen, Cesar, you made it and that means two things. One, you’re still a better man than I deserve to be doing business with. Two, finally, we get to talk. Real talk. No rum. Well… maybe one more for tradition."

He motioned to the bartender, then stopped himself.
“No, no. Bretonians or Rheinlanders, right? Got it. We’ll just put it on someone else’s tab this time.”

He leaned closer, expression sobering.

"So. Puerto del Sol. Phase Four. Whatever you've got planned , modules, power cores, black market dance clubs , I want in. Give me the list, the danger, the profit margin. And maybe… just maybe… a way to settle my debt with you that doesn't involve laundering napkins in the bar kitchen for six weeks."

He grinned , the grin of a man who had survived worse. Probably.
“Let’s do business, old friend. While I can still walk.”
Steve leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes half lidded but focused.

"Alright, Flipado... now that you've finally dragged your legendary Corsair boots through the door and I’ve drained half your retirement fund in rum , let’s talk real."

He waved vaguely at the bartender, who wisely pretended not to see him.

“I’ve been flying half my bones off, moving your reactor cores and interior nonsense, while charming half the women in Theta and getting shot at by the other half. Not that I’m complaining , I mean, I did get a thank you note written in lipstick , but I think it’s time we get to the part where I stop flying blind."

He leaned back, tapping the edge of the now , legendary bill.

"I want to know what this is really about. Puerto del Sol’s not just a resupply station, not anymore. You don’t upgrade a fortress like that unless you’re expecting one hell of a storm. And judging by the kinds of materials you’re asking for, you’re building something that needs to stand its ground against a fleet, not just survive.”

Steve’s tone softened just a bit.

“I’m not asking you to spill your whole plan over the table , though I wouldn’t mind if you did , but if I’m going to keep running point on this, I need more than coordinates and invoices. I need to know if I’m stocking a shield wall... or a powder keg.”

He paused, then smirked.

"And if it's the latter , well, then let’s make sure it’s a beautiful explosion."

He raised his now empty glass, gesturing vaguely for another.

“So... what's really going on, Cesar?"

---

I am not a native English Speaker, so i make grammar errors.
But it annoys me when people make silly comments about that... especially brits who for the most part can't speak their own language let alone anyone elses!