The Buccaneers Bay

[Navarone]

Mac fumes in the docking bay while kicking his ancient Mafic repeatedly.
As Mick and company swagger past on thier way back from a recent heist, arms full of booty, he grins half-heartedly, and shrugs.

"Th' blasted plasma injectors are all gummed up again, matey" he says to Mick. " I really ought to trade this ol' bird in for somethin shiny like 'at ship ye've got there." He points.

The charr marks and dents on his outdated Mafic make it look a bit like a childs toy that's been handed down through three or four brothers. Leaning against it, he slams his heel into it angrily.

"Soon's I do, lads.." he doffs his ever present ancient bowler to Sofia. "Sorry, an' lass, I'll be good ta go. I certainly got th' creds fer one. This rotten git of a shep may not start but her Supernova's dead-on ev'ry bloody time. Tha' yellow BMM chap wif all'at gold ore on 'im found out th' 'ard way too." he grins again, shiftily. " Sold it fer a tidy profit as well. Junkers payed fer his hull." he smirks. "Just lookin' fer a model wha' suits me purpose, is all, really. Any suggestions?"

"Aye, an' to yer earlier question, good sir...The black I wear is so tha' ya can't see me move, all ye see is this..." He flicks his hand open, and a gleaming dirk dances on its tip in the palm of his hand, appearing there almost magically. It falls over and begins to whirl around his black gloved-fingers as if it had a mind of it's own. His crooked-toothed grin is pure evil now.

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