Ezio was enjoying a nice drink, as he always did this time of the cycle after a long day's work cajoling and prompting information out of random passerby.
As much as intelligence officers love a good war story about hostile action behind enemy lines, most of their work happened right here, in bars, at parties and diplomatic functions, doing the groundwork for any good human intelligence; scouting out marks, learning vulnerabilities, making contact, running down leads and stories, and chatting up just about every person in the place.
He hadn't learned much of anything useful today (BMM was adding a new wing on to their corporate headquarters and the Mollys had hit a gold ore convoy the day before yesterday), but with any luck, the captains he'd pumped full of beer and liquor would be back again another day, recognizing an old generous friend with an open tab, full of stories and tales to tell.
His eyes drifted over the bar, looking for another likely source of information, passing over his wingmate sitting at a table with a rather ravishing woman, passing over a one Mr. Patterson (Formerly of Task Force Seven, and the man who had lead the Marine assault on Toronto during the Ontario Incident and done his best to kill Katz, which made him a hero in Ezio's book), and over the assorted riff-raff, trade captains, and Zoners that filled the rest of the bar.
Even as the four men strolled in, Ezio was already examining them, doing threat assessment. Four men, security or military background, armed, Rheinla- Rheinland Security.
Ezio died a little.
On the inside.
gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|
<jimmy had been watching the room as well casual yet on a spring he caught a look at a guard,he had Rhineland built gear,they all did he had caused a fair amount of hell to Rhineland in his marine days hopefully it wouldn't draw any unwanted trouble he spotted ezio again tho he had not met the guy he knew the face he had seen him before that wasent what worried him though.
the fact the Rhinelanders had a man on freeport one they might have them on other bases,including Bethlehem,a which could act as a safe harbor for Rhineland assets more so what intell dubbed the "Wolfpacks" the damned RM U-boat attack groups,he may of not fought in libertys military anymore but it was ultimately his birth house,and he still a Patriot,tho he could do nothing for the moment as they could simply be mercs with a Rhineland background so he sat and he watched pouring himself more whiskey
William smirked. The air he brought in the room seemed to have changed it. He glanced over several patrons that 'noticed' his entrance. Of course his body guards were of Rheinland origin, who better to beat the hell out of people than Rheinlanders? He, of course, was not. He was a Libertonian Marine at one point in time, serving under Jack Johnson a lifetime ago. Times had changed. He had to change with them.
He walked up to the bar and sat next to Jimmy Patterson, and smiled. Then looked to the barkeep.
"Whiskey, neat."
He watched as the drink was poured. His suit was in stark contrast to the heavily armed guards that had arrived with him. Two looked as though they were straight out of a Rheinland military barracks. The other had some cybernetics around him to complete his outfit. The brawler. He didn't really have a name, at least none that Harvey could recall, but he was perfect in hand to hand combat. Something that was useless in space, but was necessary in the sometimes cramped areas of the station.
"it gets the job done,besides im not to big on vodka" he turned now facing the man ever aware of the bodyguards "so,whats a guy like you doing out here?"
he looked over the man in the suit closely and saw he was Libertonian,why he was with the Rhinelanders was odd,as most shot the other upon seeing them
if things went south he could get away from the guys nearest him as for the cybernetics laden brute while not impossible he figured it wasent a cake walk either
William sipped at his whiskey and nodded at Jimmy's remark.
"You know, Mr. Patterson, you reputation precedes you."
He noticed the way he was being eyed, and looked to his Rheinland security officers.
"If you hate a man just because he was born under a different sun from you, that can't be justified. If you hate a man because he killed your puppy, now that's justified. Those Rheinlanders are ex-Military for good reason, my old friend. Though we never met face to face, I worked with someone you might be familar with. A Mr. Jackson from the Marine corps."
He smiled kindly again, and nodded to his officers. The cybernetic one left, as did another. One remained in a corner.
"I hope that puts you at ease. We're on neutral ground here, and myself and my security officers are now Zoners through and through. The frivolousness of house warfare gets the best of us all sometimes, and we just want to walk away from it."
"yeah,i know him,damn good Marine as for neutral ground ive always held zoners as neutral some dont feel the same though,as i can see from the damage this base has seen"
<he sipped his drink>"i can walk away hell i have,i feel i still may have people who see me as a enemy though of Rhineland"
Before even seeing someone the pub hears a loud voice screaming that out. Two seconds later comes in a man wearing a red, dirty jacket, scruffed jeans, smoking some foul-smelling substance and with scratches on his cheeks.
"Mate, a scotch and some women." He pointed out to the bartender. "I could use the company now, dirty work gets deeds done."
Alex walked into the bar. Well, walked was a bit of an overstatement. It would be more accurate to say that Alex stumbled into the bar without noticing where he was going. He was -supposed- to live here, but he had only just arrived, and knew where nothing went. He looked a bit of a fool walking into McCool's with his hands full of luggage.
"Um... Excuse me? Anyone know the way to the residents wing... Bay 3?" he asked.
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After a shift of security outside the base, Chris docked his ship, grabbed his guitar equipment and changed into something more of his liking for the bar to play some music after briefly chatting with others outside to include a Corsair he had just met. The snippet he played in his ship earned another request to play so, he took up the offer. Music was, after all his first choice.
He sat down and set up. As he did, someone decided to take yet another picture of the musician. He had become used to it.
Seeing a bit of a crowd forming, he decided to start with something more settling, an old tune from long ago.
He said nothing as he started to play. Little Wing
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