Rochester Inn

[ryeguy146]

Clif moved into the Inn just in time to catch the end of a salute. He nodded to those that he recognized and took a seat with a couple of other Rogue pilots. He had visited a few times before, mostly to pawn off stolen merchandise to the cutthroat Junkers, but also for their food. Far from luxury, but also far from the rations and synth paste that he 'enjoyed' at Alcatraz. He had come with a different goal this time. Though his personal collection of ships was growing, he had found one that was just out of his reach without a little help. Help that he hoped to find here at Rochester, or at least a lead.

In little time, he spotted the man that most likely owned the joint, an older guy, the one that they all seemed to be saluting when he had arrived. "Poor guy looks a wreck," thought Clif, "probably not the best time to bother him but... that's never stopped me before."

He turned to the man next to him, "Who's that older guy over there? The one that looks like he just took a kick to the goods?"

"Ah, ol' Winston, the one and only. The owner of this he-"

Clif didn't let him finish. Let em', and a drunk Rogue will go on for hours. He didn't feel like killing the time, so he moved towards the table that Winston was now visiting.

"Winston?" Clif asked, "I'm Clif of the Liberty Rogues, and I wa-"

It was Clif's turn to be cut off. "Yea? Why should I care?" interrupted Winston, obviously uninterested in whatever some random Rogue had to say.

"Now that ain't the best way to start of a possible business deal. Might take your mind off'a whatever's got ya down," testing for ways to gain the Man's attention.

"Never you mind what's on my mind. Let's have it then, Clif," he spat, "Seems as I won't have my peace until I've hear you out at least."

Reaching into his pocket, Clif produced a few Sirius credit chits and slid them in the direction of Winston. Enough to suit up a rookie rogue with a Bloodhound, but Clif had the money to burn. Not only was smuggling turning out to be a great way to pass time, but it provided him with the means to build up his personal collection of... 'toys.'

Winston made the cards vanish and looked to Clif, waiting. "What I need is information. Seeing as this is a Junker ba-"

"You paid me for a question, you'll get it. I don't need your worthless bilge. Ask your question and be done with it."

"I want to know who I need to talk to about purchasing a Recycler."

Winston looked at Clif for a time and started to laugh, "A Recycler? Don't you Rogues have your fancy Barghests to keep you happy? Need to dip into the Junker's pot too huh?"

"Are you finished?" Clif asked pointedly. "I've seen it around, and I want one. Is that not enough for you? All I need, is the information. Who can I contact about getting one of these ships, the 'why' just isn't your concern."

Silence enveloped the table and Clif waited for the eruption of violence that always followed at Alcatraz. Instead, Winston began to laugh loudly. "Ah, I needed that, boy. Worth a good laugh, you standin' up to ol' Winston here." Clif frowned and waited. "Perhaps someone here can help you, Rogue. No need to get those panties in a dither. Go rejoin your table and I'll see if I can find someone to send over. Now your credit with me is expended, go find someone else to talk to." Winston punctuated the dismissal by turning back to the table and the conversation, leaving Clif alone and without assurances that the conversation would prove fruitful.

He fell heavily into his seat back at the table of Rogues, and ordered another drink. "So that's how it's going to work, huh?" Clif thought to himself. "Fine, I can be patient. I think." He turned to his new drink and decided to at least get nice and toasted if he was going to have to wait on some Junker to overcharge him for their ship, that is, if they were available to him at all.

He just hoped that someone would be able to help him with this newest acquisition.