The Blue Lion

[Azan27]

Taking a long look around, Friar McCullen took the time to ease into his surroundings. He had been sitting at the bar for some time, drawing stares from patrons and the still-shivering bartender alike. The place was awash with all forms of personnel, from the grimy Service employees, chatting with each other about the correct way to lubricate an advanced splitter turret encampment, to ExSec members engaged in some form of drinking game with the local Bounty Hunters. All in all, it was not the place that one would ever imagine finding a man of the cloth. The view of human variety filled Peter'€™s mind for a short while... He even thought he had possibly seen one of the Trade Combine pilots sitting at the central table before... However, his mind soon began to wander, and his sitting at the bar while refusing whatever alcohol the bartender attempted to get him to buy was starting to draw stares of the less-friendly nature.

Meandering his way over to one of the neural-net outputs, Peter began to fool around, trying to look busy. He did a quick search at the terminal for any information regarding outward bound passenger transport, and the search came up a depressing '€œNone Available.'€ As he was about to leave the bar entirely, possibly to look for some sort of janitor'€™s closet in which to set up a miniature monastery, where he could spend the rest of his days on this strange, bustling station, something caught his eye; A large, red button on the interface, flashing '€œJoin Border Worlds Exports!'€

Again, that dark and strange area of his personality found itself swirling up again, and, as if on instinct, he pressed the button.

*Hmm,* Peter though to himself, *I guess... When the heavens send you a signal, one does best to heed it. Only god knows where this will lead...*

---

Let it burn.