Brotherhood Bar-Talks

[Malaclypse 666]

A pearlescent, spinning, 23-centimeter titanium globe floated into the Bar, and stopped right in the midst of the babbling occupants. The chatter dropped a few decibels in volume, and a few chiseled and unshaven jaws dropped at the sight.

*Alright, boys. Listen up! While you're all gathered here licking your wounds and telling war stories, I've got a wee bone to pick with you!

*My name is Mama Dis, and I'm with TAZ, your sort-of neighbors over in 49.

*I came over here two days ago to collect a little recompense for that little dance your new recruits had with one of our traders a few days back. Montoya was notified I was coming. And, my friends, this is no damn way to treat a lady!!*

Mama Dis spun over and got right in the face of the nearest boozehound she could find.

*Now, I've been sitting outside in orbit off 'n on those two days, expecting you all to buy your tickets for the upcoming Port Canaria Annual Dung Festival, as explained in our message to Montoya. Not one cheap bastard of you has purchased his ticket! In fact, Brother Costello had the temerity to tell me to bugger off! And these new Ag or AGc sodders don't even have a clue who the TAZ are!

*So here's what you're all gonna do: You're gonna line up, dig in those filthy greasy flightsuits, and come up with a thousand creds each for a ticket; just to get me out of your ugly faces! When I've sold a ticket to every bloody one of you, then I'll be on my sweet way home; and everything can go back to sweetness and light and the smell of stale beer and urine.

*Are we clear? Now, line up!!!*

((If you can afford 50 Mil to mollify the BSG, you sure as Thud can afford 1K apiece for insulting the TAZ and Koolmo. The Santas.y.Pescadoros will be outside Crete for the next few days. If she's not, PM me, and she soon will be. I ain't kiddin'.))

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