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| - The Motherlode Shadows cloak much of this tavern's interior, perhaps by design. Through the stinging cig smoke, you can make out the vague shapes - if not the specific features - of sentient beings of most every stripe from humanoid to reptiloid to insectoid, huddled around tables or hunched over the bar counter. Some sit alone, contemplating the darkness. Others talk business in urgent and occasionally panicked tones. The voices are muted beneath the wail of the jukebox. Contents: CEO Bishop Layout CD jukebox Bishop signals the bartender to refresh a tall glass with whiskey. The bartender politely refills Bishop's whiskey glass, then begins snapping sharply at a rowdy Demarian. Smoke. Dense as ever, if not worse, and the air is chokey with fatigue, furtiveness and a sense of oily well-being, rather like a snake's eyes watching a bird. Amidst this, a small adept figure wends its way slowly past the patrons. Bishop sits at the bar, calmly sipping his whiskey. Jest'liana follows in after Sha, looking around with amused anticipation. A young man with an a tangled shock of blue-streaked hair leers at Jest'liana, obviously in the throes of utter and deep intoxication. Jest'liana smiles faintly, but pays the wretch no more attention. N'Sha-El isn't exactly watching patrons herself, being more concerned with finding a place to sit down in this choked up atmosphere. Her eyes slant, darting from place to place - until she notices Bishop. Then she tenses up visibly. The bartender, a dark-eyed Ungstiri like Bishop - adjusts the volume on the holovid, with its breaking story from Voice of the Fringe about the continued decay of the star Volshovir around which Val Shohob orbits. A VOF correspondent says, "Even though it will be two weeks on the outside before this star explodes, taking Val Shohob with it, the intense radiation associated with the decline already is wreaking a terrible toll on this peaceful world." Jest'liana stretches just a bit, in the midst of seeing how many other eyes she can make bulge. The sound of the holovid hits her ears about the time she notes Sha's tensing. She tilts her head. "Sha? You okay?" she asks quietly. It might be the holovid - the navigator does direct a sharp, furrowed glance at the screen. However her gaze doesn't stay there for long. On Bishop it settles again, languid, slitted...deadly quiet. Bishop takes another sip of his whiskey, glances at the screen and smirks, smugly. "Just how I like my Mystics - extra crispy." The bartender chuckles. "That's a good one, Mr. G." Bishop bows his head in acknowledgement of the sycophantic compliment. "I'll be in town all week. Tip your waitress." He laughs. N'Sha-El's hand stirs faintly in just a little gesture. Amidst the smoke and the crowd, it's unlikely the arrogant, grim Ungstiri has seen her yet, hidden as she is behind a positive smokescreen of cigar ash. Jest'liana follows Sha's gaze. "Oh shit." she mutters faintly, rueful and a bit annoyed. "There goes heart breaking for the night," she straightens her shoulders philosophically and waits to take her cue from Sha. The holovid displays images from the once peaceful city of Overlook Mesa on Val Shohob, now abandoned and wrecked, swirled with sand devils. A baleful crimson orb glows in the dust-choked sky. Bishop lifts his glass in salute to the vid. "Here's to my accountant, who advised me against investing in that timeshare." Jest'liana shifts back, allowing the bulk of a sweaty and rather jovial man mostly shade her from notice from the bar. N'Sha-El's eyes narrow sharply once more. Her quick glance to Jest is at once enquiring and interrogative all at once, her hand now dipping to the hilt of her knife easily. Yet she doesn't stir, watching...waiting. With a predatory smile, Bishop sips his drink, then sets the glass back on the counter. Through the smoke and haze of cigars, sweat and some pungent narcotic steps a rather burly gentleman with dark hair, turtleneck and...a pulse rifle. He taps Sha on the shoulder, whispering to her: "Do you have an appointment?" Jest'liana folds her arms across her chest, the blades hidden in her top accessible and ready. She shrugs to Sha, but her gaze falls on the man behind Sha sharply. N'Sha-El's reflexes aren't dull. That's for sure. She whips around, her hand already bunched into a fist and ready to swing, ending up pretty much eye-to-chest with said gentleman. But her smile is radiant and so very sweet. "Why, no, can't a lass listen to the news without being ahhh...subjugated to harrassment?" she purrs. The guard looks grim, and he switches the power mode on the pulse rifle to READY. The charge indicator glows red. "Save the little girl lost routine, lady. We met on Nephthys Station." The next image on the holovid shows what seems to be the familiar shape of the Mystic's Guild and the Eye's tower...only the top of the tower has cracked and collapsed, and a howling wind shrieks through the empty streets. Jest'liana smiles. "That is a new pick up line." she notes. "The rifle probably appeals to some women, too I imagine. Your technique is rusty though.." N'Sha-El's eyes gleam softly. "Yeh...we met all right but I don't recall a name, /mister/..." she emphasizes with cool arrogance. However the holovid's audio snaps her head around at once and her eyes /narrow/, jaw tightening a mite before she returns attention to the over protective guard. Lifting his square chin and gazing down his hawk-like nose at Jest'liana, the guard smiles, but it isn't a pleasant smile. It is an unspoken warning. He turns his gaze back to Sha. "Just wanted you to know you're being watched. So, don't try anything stupid. Clear?" Jest'liana sticks her tongue out at the guard, moved to new levels of childishness. "Gods he bores me already." she grumbles. She turns her gaze back to the crowd, covering her scan for the other guards by the effect of seeming to be ignoring this one. Bishop grunts as he watches the images on the holovid. "Good riddance to bad rubbish." The small woman doesn't flinch, cringe, or anything that might be expected from such a warning. "Just wanted to let you know too that this is my turf. /Mister/. This is Tomin Kora. Not Rock 2." Her gaze is bland and very, very calm, her body language conveying absolute disinterest. The guard smiles, nodding, a sign, perhaps, of some grudging respect for the fiery women. "Lady, this is Fagin's turf. Don't forget it." He then turns and wanders away through the shrouds of smoke. Behind the counter, the bartender cups a hand to his ear and then turns his back to his customers, reaching up with his free hand to grab a fresh bottle of whiskey for Bishop. As he drops the hand from his ear and turns toward the customers, setting the bottle on the counter, his eyes dart rather furtively - but noticeably - toward where the women are lurking. Jest'liana pauses a moment, tilting her head. "Sha," she murmurs softly "Do you recognize the bartender? That isn't Bob or Schmuck boy." "And in other news," the VOF correspondent reports, "the tyrannical forces of the Vanguard slaughtered an entrepreneur captain of a prototype vessel called the Devastator, which became rather a folk legend in these parts." Bishop murmurs to the bartender, "Sheesh, I woulda like to have got my hands on that ship." N'Sha-El lightly moves forward now, bestowing a sweet, but glacial glare at the cigar-smoking twerp who's just showered her tunic with ash. She glances to Jest and nods slightly, a furrow on her brow. But at the holovid's news she turns abruptly to face the screen and her jaw hardens. "Tyrannical? Tyrannical??" she snarls softly. Jest'liana's eyes narrow. "Sha..hush." she advises quietly. "Now isn't the time to worry about spin doctors on news casts. Other things, remember?" She glances at Bishop again. Long distance to Jest'liana: N'Sha-El's quick flicker of a glance to the bartender says it all. Paid by Bishop most likely. N'Sha-El tosses her head in a gesture of light arrogance, nodding barely perceptibly to Jest. Forward now, with the easy glide and boldness of a woman who knows her place in a man's world and isn't afraid to be counted for who she is - a force to be reckoned with. Towards the bar, easy and graceful. The VOF correspondent studies her notes, then says, "Now, from our update file, it appears that Outworld Mining Corporation has all but fully recovered from the recent computer-hacking episode that cost them more than a dozen gigabytes of information and delayed payroll for at least a week, angering mining crews in the Ungstir chunks. CEO Bishop Garvin has reportedly sought a multimillion dollar damage suit against the Consortium college student charged in the crime." Bishop finishes off the glass of whiskey and thunks the empty on the counter. "Damn straight. Punk with too much damned time on his hand and no damned values." The bartender unscrews the cap of the whiskey bottle, then refills Bishop's glass. "There ya go, Mr. G." Jest'liana blinks, and begins to smile. Arrogant, deadly, annoying...but hades if this man wasn't funny as all get out. Punk? Values? She saunters towards the bar as well, chosing to split off of Sha and end up headed towards the other side of Bishop. N'Sha-El reaches the bar, the smoke swirling lazily around her like some demonic halo. Up lifts her hand to brush a wisp of hair from her forehead, a sparkle catching like fire on the shadowed hollow of her left ring finger. Up she hops lazily on a barstool, gracefully shoving away a rather drunken and leering young brat with a layered coconut-crop and bleary red-rimmed eyes. Bishop is about to sip from his refreshed glass when the brat protests. He looks around, sees Sha, and just shakes his head, chuckling. Jest'liana leans against the bar, casting a deliberately languid glance at the bartender to see if he is planning on doing more than boot licking tonight. Doubtful. She sighs. N'Sha-El flicks a speck of ash off her tunic with languid carelessness. "Well well who have we here now..." she murmurs as she turns a brilliant smile in Bishop's direction. "Welcome to Tomin Kora. Mister Bishop. Also known as..." She gestures with panther-like langour, "Hell." Bishop rolls his eyes, then sips his drink. "Madame, you ought to know this ain't my first time in Freewheeling." Jest'liana studiously continues to watch the crowd and eavesdrop at the same time. Sometimes, though it galls her, being ignored can be an advantage after all. She tries to see how long she can keep it. Some of the patrons at the bar that aren't entirely in a drunken stupor cast a very wary, sneaked look at the Ungstiri and the small woman, and inch away subtly. Tomin Kora's no city of angels after all. And even sometimes, devils fear to tread. N'Sha-El's dip of the head is magnanimously courteous as she gestures to the holovid with a scarred, graceful hand. "Watching the news I see." The bartender doesn't seem to be ignoring Jest'liana, although it might not be the kind of attention she might prefer. He's got a hand resting comfortably on the butt of a pulse pistol holstered at his side. Bishop nods to Sha. "I hope you didn't come here without money." Jest'liana smiles at the bartender. She mouths the words, "Vodka," and waves him off to go fetch it. Her gaze flickers to Sha and Bishop again. N'Sha-El tsktsks softly as her keen sienna-eyed gaze sweeps the bar in front of her, catching the bartender's gesture. "Oh, for criminy's sake, pulling a pistol on my sister, the beautiful one?" she chides and there's a malicious undertone to it. "Such an ungentlemanly gesture..." To Bishop she arches a brow. "Money? Can't a girl take a drink at the bar her own self, quiet like? Tut tut Mister Bishop...and we thought you such a gentleman after all." She flicks a glance to the bartender again. "Odari Red. And don't dilute it." A command. The bartender, no longer exactly in bartender mode, remains stolidly in place. Obviously, his orders come from the Ungstiri businessman. Bishop glances toward the bartender. "It's all right, Savine. These two would be insane to try anything so foolish as to harm me under Fagin's roof, yes? Fix their drinks." Jest'liana glances at Sha. "You know, even Girvan is a better bartender than that one. I never thought I would see the day." The bartender grimaces, but nods to Bishop. "You got it, Mr. G." He gives Jest a look like he's imagining her with a smoldering hole in her skull. Jest'liana blows him a kiss. N'Sha-El laughs softly. "Well, bartenders have their breeds. Some of them well...they just spend their lives licking shit off bootstraps you know?" Her voice clear, lightly cutting and so honey-sweet as she crosses her legs deliberately slow. "And what do we owe the pleasure of this visit Mr. Bishop? Another planetary destruction such as the one ahh..." she gestures, "..at Val Shohob?" Eyes hard and diamond-malicious. Disdain plain in his dark eyes, the Ungstiri scowls. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The bartender laughs softly, then proceeds to fix the drinks as ordered. Moments later, the bartender returns, serving a glass of vodka to Jest and a glass of undiluted Odari Red to Sha. N'Sha-El laughs softly, a little purring noise that isn't displeasing of itself - but taken with her fey-mischief demeanor at the moment, rather ominous. "Sis, that stuff would poison a dog's hind leg at a sniff, lemons might work better with that and less painful." Casually returning her gaze to Bishop. "Oh, nothing at all Mr. Bishop...merely that it's rather interesting to watch you rejoice ahh...over such a calamity after all." Jest'liana takes the drink and tilts her head at the bartender. "You know, you're kind of cute." She grins, eyes sharp with the play. Again, they don't stay on the bartender for long, but consistantly double check on the body langauage from Sha and Bishop, and once and a while rescan the crowd. Long distance to Jest'liana: N'Sha-El eyes you quickly, as if trying to remind you of the LAST time you had vodka. Bishop lowers his head for a moment, seeming somber. Then he bursts out laughing. Bishop fixes Sha in his cold gaze. "Rejoicing? That's a stretch. I'm not sorry to see those freaks go, but I'm not exactly hosting *watch the star boil* parties." N'Sha-El downs half the thick, gelatinous-like fluid like an Odari native, without flinching and causing several other hardened cases at the bar to blench an interesting shade of green. "Freaks? They aren't freaks." Her tone oh so gently persuasive. "Merely different...or perhaps too, that's an acquired taste of an ahh../cultured/ mind." The slight little emphasis is sooo slight it might just be tonal inflection. Bishop shrugs, sipping his whiskey. "Whatever, lady. You don't like my commentary, find another bar. Shouldn't you be out earning money to get that kid of yours out of hock?" Jest'liana gently swirls her drink in her hand, but doesn't consume it. N'Sha-El lifts her glass to eye-level thoughtfully, examining it. "Even ladies and bitches take breaks," she points out with maddeningly sweet logic. "One can only ahh..screw and slay for so long without getting tired. Oops.." She makes a mock gesture of clapping her hand across her lips demurely. "Tut tut, it must be the company, my tongue's running away." Bishop twists his mouth in a half-grimace, then swallows more whiskey. He sets the glass on the counter. "So you don't have the money. Why are you boring me with this petty sniping? You know, one can only babysit a brat for so long without getting fed up and cutting his ivory white throat." Bishop smirks. "Oops." N'Sha-El arches a brow. "Well who thought that we'd have the privilege of meeting up with you here tonight?" she returns smoothly, her smile a work of Beau Brummell elegance. "And of course, one can ahh...only babysit so long without feeling the need for some other entertainments, perchance." She smiles pleasantly. Bishop shrugs. "Yeah, whatever. Look, you've got two weeks. Then you can find that kid of yours in a nice dark alley somewhere." Bishop taps a finger on the counter. "Or maybe we should just space him?" Bishop chuckles. "Or, hey, I know - we can take him right on back to Val Shohob." Jest'liana looks at Bishop. "Do you mind, some of us are trying to drink?" she says swirling her glass at him and looking faintly disguisted. "we get your point, no need to belabor it." Bishop glances around at Jest, as if seeing her for the first time, and he feigns shock. "Did I offend? My most sincere apologies." N'Sha-El's smile is undiminished although the glittering quality has increased by at least half. "I do believe that Ungstir fucking up the chicken hawk ass has addled your brain Mister Bishop?" she murmurs dulcetly. Bishop snaps his head back around at Sha, glowering. "Say what?" Jest'liana(Jest) pages: Jest gives Sha a sharp warning look. Long distance to Jest'liana: N'Sha-El gives you a barely perceptible nod. The bartender seems particularly bemused by the implication, and draws the pistol from its holster. Jest'liana takes a sip of her drink. "My sister has perhaps drunk to much? Her sincerest apologies." Bishop studies the petite woman next to him carefully, as an archeologist might attempt to discern the meaning of some inscrutable ancient text. "I get the feeling I should kill the both of you, and that rotten imp of yours, and be done with the whole mess." N'Sha-El merely finishes her Odari Red in a swift swallow as her gaze follows the bartender with some dark, malicious amusement. "Lay that thing down nice and quiet now or you'll see some straight shootin' you ain't ready for, little man..." she murmurs, as her gaze swivels back to Bishop blandly. "Have I said something wrong?" Eyes mock innocent and wide. Jest'liana says flatly, "Enough. That would be a bad idea, Bishop and you know it. You can put up with a few insults for the money. And Sha can put up with your attitude for the child. I think that we are done here, right?" She eyes the bartender. The bartender keeps his gun handy. "If you know what's good for you? Yeah, you're done. Mr. G's visiting hours are over." Bishop smiles enigmatically at Sha, then glances toward the repeating vid about his company troubles. He swivels his head back toward her. But he accuses her of nothing. He simply smiles politely and says, "As always, a pleasure." Out comes Lady Macbeth, drawn and laid on the counter with predatory, feline grace. But nothing else. Just a gesture. "Of course, it's always a pleasure. /Sir/." The meaning she manages to load into the seemingly subservient word would score an iguana's hide from top to bottom in one piece. Off the stool she gets, drawing the knife with her and stroking it along her lips as her calm gaze rests on both the bartender and Bishop. "Maybe someday dinner will taste good eaten with this..." she purrs as she licks the blade gently. Bishop coughs, then asks, "If you'd like, of course, I can arrange to get you a picture of the boy as a keepsake." He smirks. Jest'liana lays her glass on the bar. She leans forward, her revealing top made just a bit more revealing by the gesture. "This tastes like horse swill, you know." she confides to bartender, lips quirked. she straightens. "Come on, Sha." she smiles at Bishop and wrinkles her nose. "I just can't take her anywhere, you know." Bishop chuckles darkly. The VOF correspondent breaks in with another news story: "This just in..." N'Sha-El moves away from the bar, with a deliberate seductive sway to her hips, the loose harem pants swaying around her muscled thighs with distracting grace. "Oh sis, come on now..." she mock pouts lightly. Then to Bishop she bestows a brilliant, scintillating smile. "A keepsake? Oh how kind. But I'd rather have one of you Mister Bishop...chains and blood oh my." Her attention turns to the holovid sharply. The correspondent says, "We've just received word that Sim Cordero, a high-ranking member of Lord Fagin's Elite Guard, was found dead earlier this evening in a dark alley in the city of Freewheeling on Tomin Kora. He had apparently been shot, execution style, in the back of the head. No known suspects. Elite Guard officials say the matter is under investigation." Long distance to Jest'liana: N'Sha-El's gaze narrows, hardens and turns to you quickly. From afar, Jest'liana meets her gaze and mouths. "Leave. Now." Bishop cringes and shakes his head. "Wow. First Prague. Now Cordero." He looks toward Sha. "You know, they always come in threes. Make sure that kid ain't it, yes?" N'Sha-El laughs softly as she sheathes her blade gracefully. "Oh Mr. Bishop...and I was so in hope that it wouldn't be you." Her voice is honey soft and so sweet, dripping with insinuation as she moves to Jest and lays a hand on her arm. "Well sis where shall we go next?" Bishop smirks, then turns back to enjoy the rest of his whiskey, nodding to Savine, who relaxes just a bit. Jest'liana tilts her head. "I don't know. Perhaps somewhere they can make a decent drink?" she says wistfully. N'Sha-El snorts. "I think Savine pissed in the vodka..." she confides in a stage whisper, just loud enough for said bartender to hear. "Y'know...when they're strung up and they can't get a woman?" Jest'liana makes a disguisted whimper. "Sha, I /drank/ a sip of that. Thank you /so/ much for your insight." she glares at her. N'Sha-El considers. "Or maybe it was the whiskey? Whiskey that color you know....you've got to have something else adding to it and I swear, that yellow..." Jest'liana is still giving her a frosty look. "Sha, you are a sick woman. Normally, I am proud of that. But /please/. Discussion of bodily fluids is just right over the top now." N'Sha-El wrinkles her nose, calmly drawing her knife half-way and hilting a poor besotted sod in the face who's so bold as to try and paw her lower half. He drops onto the floor with a yowl of anguish which she totally ignores. "Well what else do you think is in there sis? I mean...maybe...Ooooh." She feigns excitement like a child. "Yak fruit?" Jest'liana's eyes widen. "I would rather have bodily fluids." she says nodding slowly. Yak fruit would be truly diabolical." N'Sha-El darns, as she snaps her fingers in vexation. "Fleas, sis! Fleas! I bet /this/ is where Genghis got 'em from! That Sivane! Did you notice 'em in his hair jumping around?" She draws Jest beside her in a companionable fashion, strolling amidst the smoke like a flapper girl in a men's club and fully aware of it. Jest'liana 's voice is faintly curious as they walk towards the door. "But Genghis would never hang around such a man...he has too much taste. Sha. I think you are making this all up." N'Sha-El pshaws lightly, brushing a cloud of smoke from her face in lordly fashion. "Well of course but you know how such dear little twits manage to coerce themselves and force themselves onto people...you know? Rather like a burr in your knickers?" Jest'liana's delighted laughter echos even as she walks out. Spaceport Atrium The spicy scent of possibly narcotic smoke wafts through the thick air of the Freewheeling Spaceport. The lobby sprawls beneath an elegant construct of glass and steel that has been twisted at seemingly impossible angles to reflect and refract dancing lights among the shadows. A gleaming blue neon sign above a nearby archway reads: THE MOTHERLODE. Beyond another archway, you can see a bustling casino. Double doors hiss open frequently, letting in the untamed sounds of the streets of Freewheeling. Contents: Citizen Jest'liana Mail Console - 1006 Once outside the tavern however, Sha's laughter dies abruptly. She casts a single, glacial look towards the door and her voice is tight. "We have got to get Vampire here. And the entire gang. Kip is not safe with that maniac." Jest'liana nods shortly. "Courser? Now? N'Sha-El nods. "Yeh. Now." With that she takes off towards the landing dock.
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