The Buccaneers Bay

[Drake]

As if perfectly timed, there's a series of beeps as Ambrose punched in the door code and swaggers in, hair disheveled and a half-empty bottle of some nameless rotgut dangling from his hand. Probably something a Junker distilled in an old boiler somewhere on the station. His ever-present companion Jingles rode in his(?) usual place on Ambrose's shoulder, keeping a tight grip on hos master's ear.

"Oi, hello Cap'n, good 't see ya. Hear about our last score, wit' the tanks an' wotnot? No bloody idea wha' we'll do with fifteen tanks, but we've got 'em if we need 'em, eh?"

Stumbling only slightly as he makes his way to the bar, he plops down heavily on one of the stools and thumps his bottle on the bar. "'Ey, Johnny, 'ow about some coffee, eh? I'mma need somethin' to keep me alert while I'm out flyin' t'day."