Finnegan, starting to waver a bit in a whiskey induced haze, smiles his crooked smile at Doc Holliday, and nods. "Aye, Doc. Them MI blighters an' some bleedin' Liberty spies as well." he makes a sour face as he looks at his cards. "They dinnae let up. Seems they've some or another idear they know what it is we 'do' 'round ere...an they mean ta catch us at it, aye Andrew?" he indicates the Congressman, and throws two cards down. "Course, 'tween Beast's dock security an' ol' Declan 'ere, they rarely make it far."
He starts to smile a wry smile, then as he picks up his draw cards, he glares again at the Captain of Med Force One "Ye sure these cards aren't marked, Doc? I aint seen such a pile o' shyte since th' last time I tractored in some poor dead Xeno's spilt guns... Bloody 'ell. Oi Fold!" He slaps his cards down.
As Tess walks by to check up on them, he slips her the stack of c-notes that Holliday had given him. He leans back to whisper into her ear as she leans in.
She winks, taps her datapad, and touching two fingers on her left cheek -a signal, departs.
This makes Finn's eyes open sharply, and he turns to look at the newcomer chatting with Pip. His eyes narrow as the name 'Sarah' drifts past.
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Doc was getting just a bit beyond tipsy at this point but still raking in the money. He turned to Tim, "Why Tim Finnegan, how could you possibly think that these cards are marked?" He then hands Tim the deck, showing that they aren't and even opens a fresh pack, still in the plastic, for use.
"It's called an old profession, Sir. At one point, it was my only one so I had to be good at it."
He continued with his work, checking as to the location of the passing brunette.
While waiting for a response from Elsie, Sarah noticed the glance from one of the other bar patrons. She looked over at him for a moment, then down at her drink, feeling slightly self-conscious- one of the flaws in her personality. Taking a small sip, she tried to watch the group without seeming too interested, though being covert was hardly one of her strong points.
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
"Sarah, ye say?"
Pip cocks her head to the side. "Seems I 'member a Junker pilot by tha' name, sugar. Aint been seen forever. Never met 'er, I hear'd she was summin else, though. Don't s'pose ye knew 'er? Prob'ly not." she twirls her pen absently, shifting her wieght from one foot to the other. "Anyway, hun. My name's Elsie, but everyone calls me Pip. You can call me Pip. 'Course you're not everyone, you're Sarah."
She half-giggles at herself, then leans in conspiritorially. "You meetin' a fella 'ere? Drinkin' alone? Best be careful 'ere. Rough comp'ny some days. A pretty thing like you oughta take care. Keep both eyes peeled. 'Course, I'll look out for ya. You'll be fine. 'Nother drink?"
Sarah nods. "Another drink would be good, thanks...an' I think I can take care of m'self, I've got company on th' station that are probably watching right now..." She smiles. "I stay in good, albeit somewhat terrifying company. And this place seems calm enough, for th' moment..."
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
A man at the bar wearing a smart attire turned around having just ordered his beverage. He'd been listening to what sounded like a junker and another voice he couldn't put his finger on for a little while and now scanned the room for the two.
It didn't take him long, the junker was beginning to sway a little in his chair and his babbling seemed to make it harder understand his accent. The moment he'd noticed the two of them playing cards he placed his paper on the bar, downed his whisky and ordered another before heading over to their table.
"I can make that pot look prettier if your lookin' for another man boys"
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Shuffling cards for the next hand, he motions to an empty chair next to him as he acknowledges the smart looking man.
"Kallisti, my friend," he said, "we play 50 credit buy-ins here."
He then motioned to the bartender, "soda!" He was at his comfort level for alcohol intake and didn't want to lose his edge.
Finnegan tore his eyes from the diminutive Junkeress in the leather outfit. There was something there....something...he couldn't put his finger on.
He smiled genuinely as the gentleman approached the table. "Oy! lookit this stuffed shirt!" he grinned. "Oi'll bet tha' suit cost ye a pretty penny, an' sure."
He glanced at Dekker, to be sure he'd checked this dapper fellow properly.
Declan's nod reassured him, and he offered his hand as the gentleman took a seat.
"Name's Finnegan, laddy. Tim bleedin' Finnegan. Welcome ter Invergordon. First round's on th' house an' Oi'll spot yer first ante. Ye got a name, or just a shiny suit an' an expensive tailor?"
His cheshire cat smile was broken only by the flicking of his eyes to the Junker named Sarah.
Something about her was niggling at the back of his mind.
The man spoke as he took a chair and picked up his hand of cards. A waiter came over and handed his scotch to him. Placing his buy-in on the table he let the junker finish talking.
"Im John, and my tailor's ernst strahlhopf, he owed me a few favours."
He turned his attention to the man to his right.
"Your the zoner. Your well known round these parts doc, good to finally meet you; and you Finnegan."
He let the hand play out and notioned to the girl that seemed to keep finnegan distracted.
"Wish I could say, lad. Oi cannae put me finger on it, but summin' bout th' lass is ringin' me bells, aye?"
Finnegan shrugs. and peers at his cards.
Tess, staring intently at her datapad walks over to the Congressman, and standing behind him, places a hand on his shoulder and leans down to whisper into his ear. Her manner is terse and troubled.
Finn's eyes pop clean open, and he tosses his cards to the table. "Fold." he says as he ratchets himself upright on his cane.
Tess backs off, a look of worry creasing her brow.
"Doc," Finn begins, "looks like me lad Murphy ran afoul o' some bloody Keepers near Rochester." His visage lowers into a strong glare. "Ye may wanna send some o' yer medical personnel tha' way. There's gonna be some hurtin' an' sure. I bloody promise it."
As he storms off toward the door, he snaps his fingers and many of the patron's heads turn. "Saddle up, lads! Au Gordonnach! Thanam an Dhul!"
Drinks, dice, and dames scatter in the scramble as the Gordons of Inverness make for war.
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