Smugglers, Rock and Roll and the rise of the PLF

[Erasmas]

The air is smoky and clouded as always in the Bethlehem bar, as customers from all the system flock to the watering hole to share their stories and gossips. A group of Junkers are making a hell of a noise, celebrating some good deal they made in the Border Worlds. In a corner, a lone man is waiting his ship to be repaired; his elegant dress and general aura of disdain paint a big "corporate" sign on his forehead, and he barely smirks as the waitress almost spills his drink while serving him.
On the stage, a band of teenagers is playing a rock piece, their enthusiasm making up for the lack of finesse; they all are a bit weird looking: The guitar and vocals is a black girl with silver-dyed hair, the batterist is a guy on wheelchair that moves the battery pedals with a string attached to his head, but perhaps the strangest one is the bassist girl: even in the dim lights of the bar, she's wearing heavily shaded glasses that completely cover her eyes.

When the music ends, the young musicians pack up their instruments in a corner, then scatter around the bar, steaming off the tension of the exibition with dance, alcohol and other "activities". The girl with shades straps the bass on her back (the head of the instrument curiously looks like a sword hilt), then heads for the bar counter and sits on a stool.

Gea: Don't you dare saying the words "Liberty ale", right? Or the word "Liberty" at all, since you're at it. Give me an Eire Hammer... wait, make it double.

She stretches, making a cracking noise with her spine, then looks around.

---