A man came in through the bar's door. One of the many such "fine establishments" on the Alcatraz that nobody ever remembered by name. The man wore a leather jacket and jeans. The top button of the jacket was undone, revealing a smart, white shirt underneath. His head was covered with a beanie and his neck with a scarf, which he took off as he came in exposing his rather hastily trimmed beard.
That man was Nathan Bloodrose. Four years ago, in that same bar he made the first step to drop his original surname. In that same bar he met Rise Bloodrose and over those four years he rose to the position of the Bloodrose head of operations in Liberty. In practice - the entire Republic was his playground, he just had to make sure no stray cats pooped into the sandbox. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was making friends. And shooting bad guys, but that only on weekdays.
Alcatraz was always a good place to conduct business, even if it was just by a random conversation in the bar - he was the best example of that. Everyone you met on Alcatraz turned out to be someone you could use, it was just a matter of price and ability.
Nathan knew that instinctively. And it was not important now anyway. All he wanted from this bar right now is some hard liquor. He approached the counter and took his seat. The bartender peeked out of the back room.
"Get me some scotch, a glass and a teaspoon, good man," Nathan made his order. As the bartender put the stuff on the table, another man entered the room.
The arrival of yet another person was mostly unnoticed by the rest of the patrons. Alcatraz was a relatively large installation, being gifted with bigger and smaller establishments specifically designed to raise one's alcohol content, though it was always the smaller and more quiet ones which offered the most comfort and least chance of ending up trapped between two raid parties during some heated argument. It was exactly this reason while Mr. Mort was standing at the entrance to the bar, his lean frame made modest by a highly plain Rogue attire. The same gray and leather-brown vest as most other Rogues would wear- a simple stylized red scull embedded on the right breast.
Some pairs of eyes lifted up from their drinks or holo-pads, only to go back to whichever point in space they were staring...though some did give a barely notable but respectable nod. The warlord of the Rogues had a rather odd status within the group those days. For most wolves and rookies and even for sizable part of veterans his existence was probably even unheard of, but as the Liberty Rogues functioned, it was clear that someone was doing something to keep the volatile mix of bandits, thieves and murderers from shaking themselves apart. And Mort was good at what he did.
Still, his lack of recognisability was made even easier by his looks. That lean frame was almost sickly to the first glance- worn out and slightly slouching, his hair rather long and unkept- a sight made worse by his clearly receding hairline. And yet, and yet still- even the dark circles under his eyes could not distract from a rather stern and calculating gaze, currently fixed upon a man he had seen only as a flickering image in received transmissions. For a moment it seemed that Mort would simply turn about and continue for whatever task it was that he had began, clearly having come to the bar in hopes to find someone else, but even as he swayed to do so, he paused.
Why not.
A few more moments and Mort had made his way towards the counter as well, the bartender already there- very well aware of who it was. Mort did not even need to ask, simply giving a slight nod to the other as he took his spot next to Nathan, his words very simple, very straightforward even though there was a slight rasp to it.
"Mister Blooodrose. Not out and about and causing trouble, I see. Or did you mayhaps ran out of targets?"
He quickly cackled to himself, reaching out for the glass of water the bartender offered, lips pulled back in a rather wide grin as he did. Charismatic was not the first word to describe the current warlord of the Rogues. His state made it rather difficult to even judge his age, but it still was that certain aura around him that would be more than enough proof of who Nathan had encountered- if the voice itself wasn't enough, no doubt already having been heard over many transmissions before. There was no need for introductions, none were offered. It was simply an encountered bound to happen sooner or later.
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Nathan looked at the man who had just approached him.
"Oh my, " he said with a pretended sense of surprise in his voice. "Andrew Mort himself."
He chuckled and continued. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. And as for causing trouble... It gets boring, after a while you need a break."
Temporarily shifting his attention to the glass, he poured himself a bit of whisky and took out a small, ziplock bag filled with orange powder. He shook a few drops into the drink and stirred it.
"Some freaks on Malta like to drink this with spirit. They call it Firestalker. I don't have the stomach for it, but even with scotch, it kicks like a horse," Nathan looked through the liquid and after a deep breath he chugged the entire glass.
"Aaaah, like it was made from live scorpions," he turned towards Mort and offered him a bottle. "Want some, too?"
Mort was already halfway done with his glass of water when the man offered to try something harder, causing that always-tired looking gaze to lock onto the bottle for a moment. Still, this did not seem to encourage the man to drink any faster, taking his time with his rather plain choice of beverage, before setting it aside, in front of him once more.
"You will find that having at least one person sober on this rock is within our best interests, mister Bloodrose. Though, to be frank, this is something I did not miss during my little vacation away from this nonsense." he added dismissively, motioning for the bartender for a refill, which the man did - also setting a bottle of water next to the glass, thus excusing himself for future requests, giving Mort a small nod as he returned to the back room, thus allowing the two to continue with their discussion.
"I advise caution. You would not be the first veteran pilot the Maltese might end up losing. Liberty is fun like that. You never know who wants to shoot you dead until you are already staring down a barrel. And there are certain encounters skill alone will not help you." He added the last part as an afterthought before twisting to look back at the entrance of the bar, a small frown on his expression. "Futile warnings aside, how are your operations holding up so far then? All good and according to plan? Hopefully the Maltese are content with what is going on around here." He asked, though the last words did contain a slightly mocking tone.
It was rather obvious that Mort was not about to hide the slight bitterness that had developed between the Rogues and Outcasts over the years. It would have been rather silly to do so, after all.
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Even if Nathan felt the sting of mockery in Andrew's words, he didn't show it. He stared down his glass, looking at the orange dregs and a few last drops of whisky on the bottom. He was still a few glasses away from the pleasant noise in his head - that magical state just after being "under the influence" and just before "outright drunk". The amber liquid flowed down the bottle as Nathan poured himself another one. Taking a sip, this time he gave the liquid enough time to appreciate its taste before swallowing. Not the best kind - the one that they sometimes imported from Mollys, but good enough not to turn his stomach and that's what counted.
The meeting of Mort was rather unexpected. He hoped to get enough alcohol into his bloodstream to still have the ability of walking to his ship and crashing out in the cargo bay. But seeing as the opportunity presented itself, he would be an idiot not to at least try and squeeze some benefits out of it. After all, it was the first time he met the Rogue boss in person.
"You must clearly underestimate my alcohol tolerance," he said and chuckled. "There's a difference between drinking for pleasure and drinking to get wasted. I'd personally rather stay away from the latter."
He thought a bit about Mort's advice. Yeah, sure, Alcatraz was not a very safe place but then again, what was? Maybe Attica Supermax, but that was not for certain. And Nathan had a good grasp of how not to get killed here.
"And as for our operations... it's good. There are some problems but that's par for the course in this business. Cardamine is flowing well so there's nothing to complain about... though things used to be better back in the day."
He started to wonder if it would be another discussion about "the olden times" and smiled to himself.
