Sunbucks Cafe

[Talbott]

Frank put his Libby down on the cinderblocks laid out next to the scorched bulkhead that had become his unofficial/official landing spot. The blocks were necessary because the Libby's landing gear had gotten spot-welded shut accidentally during one of Frank's whiskey-fueled tinkering sessions.

He had found enough "Justice White" paint somewhere to paint a bitchin' racing stripe down the centerline of the Liberator, with enough left over to trade for some "Orange Dream" to paint flames around the muzzles of his laser cannons. The cargo-hold was now mostly empty gun racks, much to the discomfort of prisoners temporarily sequestered there as Frank had somehow managed to weld and grind structures with zero utility but an impossible number of sharp metal corners.

Frank swung himself out of the cockpit, happy to put his boots on solid deck for the first time in 24 hours. It had been a long patrol, the "Manhatten 500", doing loops in the Jersey fields watching for smugglers and criminals. They had had a few fights, thankfully lost nobody from the patrol and made it home safe and sound.

Now his boots beat the well-worn path to the Sunbucks bar, and he slapped down a Sirian credit card he had pulled from a burning Mule wreck. "Drinks are on the Rogues tonight, ya'll!" he shouted, "Come get you some!"

"Bartender, keep the whiskeys comin' till I black out!"

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The Austin Clan: George Austin, GMG Paramilitary Ensign; Frank Austin, LPI Recruit Officer