Rochester Inn

[Mr.Fabulous]

... ... ... ...

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

... ... ... ...

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.

As Katarn finished his ceremonial toast of Black Grog, he eyed the lad who came in and talked with Winston...


"Hmmm... The lad is familiar with that ol' chap, Haha..." The old veteran chuckled to himself, and finished the current mug he held.


As he eyed Clif going towards a table, he approached Winston and said, [color=#99FFFF]"Who might that be, Winston? Some o ye ol' chumps? HAHAHAA!"


"Clif... Just some Rogue in these here parts..." He grabs a Black Grog from Katarn's platter and drowns it before continuing, "... And apparently he's looking to purchase a Recycler... A bold statement I should say... We don't just sell off those things to just ANYBODY...


"And if we ever DID find someone holding one without OUR... permission... He's likely to find himself keelhauled somewhere in the Omega systems... Without a spacesuit helmet..."


Then Winston gets an idea in his head, "... Say, Katarn... You used to man a Recycler, didn't you, back in '85? Why not tell 'im about it?"


Katarn's eyebrow raises in joyful surprise and the old vet replies, "... Me? It be a looong while back, Winston! Surely ye don't think me memory still has a hand it te help this young lad?"


"Well... It's only a favor, Katarn... Just go and speak to Clif and ask what he intends to do with the Recycler. Just that much, at least."


The old veteran grins wryly back at the bartender, "... Aye... That I can do, laddy, AHAHAHAHA!!!"


Katarn takes two full tankards of Black Grog over to Clif's table and sits on the chair opposite of him, his rugged trench-coat flowing naturally to the left side, revealing a very exotic pistol and several deep pockets next to it.


The old veteran offers with his human arm a mug of Black Grog and a daring grin over to the patiently-waiting Rogue, "Care te enjoy yerself with some refreshments? I'll warn ye though... The alchohol in this here drink be a bit... concentrated, HAHAHA!!!"

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