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| - A cold breeze blasts through the open window in this tiny office space within the NR embassy. Its purpose? Keeping Ambrosia awake. Also assisting in that task is the pot of caf sitting on the rough cut desk in front of her. Turning her back to the wind, she leans over the small, built-in holo unit and glances at some scribbles on her hand before punching in a code. Somewhere, across space and time, her targeted unit will (hopefully) chirp happily for the smuggler's attention. Appearing a bit more 'together' than her last time before the desk, Ambrosia fidgets idly with her blast vest - an accessory insisted upon by her security detail. Probably, they are not aware of her liberty taken with the open window, but ... meh. Its Vane's turn to be the bleary-eyed one in this exchange. The holocom handshake is accepted and the projector flickers into life, the Rattataki half-sprawled across a desk she blinks several times at the bright blue light in front of her. "Whaaaaat?" she asks with a tone of irritation, hand rising to rub her eyes. "What could you /possibly/ want at this forsaken hour of...oooh" she cuts herself off. "Oh-ho-hooooh. Madame Ambassador!" The more or less monochrome stare looking back at the drowsy Rattataki is...emotionless. Not unlike that of a cat, forced to endure its owner's niceties. "Captain," Ambrosia greets in turn, voice a touch flat, but her mouth managing to spare a small smile. "I apologize for the disturbance...you look how I feel." It takes Vane a moment to process that. The pirate wipes a sleeve of her longcoat across her eyes and shakes her head, a shuffling of honest to god papers and the clattering of empty glass bottles falling over accompanies her rummaging around the terminal, just out of the field of vision. When she sits back, she has a bottle in her hand, and drinks from it deeply. "I thought diplomats were supposed to be charming..." she remarks with a leading, incredulous rise to the end of her sentence. "There's a time and place. The only ones who put up that front all the time are full of hot air." Tilting her head curiously to Vane's beverage choice, Ambrosia shrugs, looks about, and fishes a small flask out of her vest. "Had this thing personalized with some much-needed pockets," she comments, tipping the flask in a mini toast towards the pirate, then taking a little sip. "Anyway. I won't keep you long from your...meal. We have a final offer to present to you regarding the purchase of your services." *Plunk* goes the little flask, alongside the caf pot. Vane mirrors the toast, almost by reflex rather than volition. "A woman I can do business with." she smiles wickedly across the holo-link. "Ahhh, and you bring me news of profit! This is shaping up to be a fine..." a glance off to one side confirms the time of day. "...morning. More or less." "More or less," the Ambassador echoes. Closing her eyes, lips thinning into a patient line, she takes a deep breath. "As it is that you evidently already possess a ship from our pockets," she says through just slightly clenched teeth, "we do agree to pardon that 'misunderstanding' and allow you to exchange said vessel for the new one you request. We cannot afford to give away two, so return to us your current 'ride' and we'll outfit you with a newer model." Eyes opening, she shrugs. "That new ship will come with terms of use, however. We offer you an open contract for future 'privateering' opportunities, with and in service to the New Republic. I believe you were made to understand that this excludes transport of slaves and illegal substances within Republic space, as well as the obvious "no no" of biting the hand that feeds, so to speak, by turning your talents and our vessel against us. Violate those terms, and you'll find yourself hitching a ride with an asteroid, contract and affiliated 'ride' forfeit. Oh...and on the subject of black market items...we do agree to compensate you that 10% value of any supplies you intercept from the in-bound Imperial shipments and deliver as aid to Caspar. For what it's worth, I personally find it a bad idea to interrupt their transport of humanitarian supplies to the planet, as it could do the Caspians more harm than good, however...despite being the representative having lived among these peoples for over a decade, my words don't hold the heaviest weight in this decision. That being said, it would be best to hit your targets before they actually come into the blockade's possession, therefore, are not technically interfering with shipments already en route to the citizens of Caspar." Pausing there to let Vane digest the tangent of information, she pours herself a little bit of the caf into a mug, then adds a dollup of elixir from her flask. One must pace themselves, after all. Vane turns in her chair, the seat apparently well-appointed with a smooth swivel and tilt along with the high back. She nods, slowly, along with the rather verbose terms, sipping at her bottle all the while. "Agreed." she answers, eventually, righting herself from the recline and gesturing to Ambrosia with the neck of the dark bottle, its colour rendered only in the blue-scale of the holotransmission. "We can make the exchange of vessels on Tatooine. And for the record, I have no truck with slavers..." she leans forward, low coarse voice a rumble. "Even pirates must have /some/ scruples, yes?" "How soon can you have it ready? My crew are eager for action. No prey, no pay. So the sooner we're underway the sooner the Empire will feel the squeeze and your Caspian friends some relief." Some of the ice thaws from Ambrosia's gaze as Vane shares her personal relationship, or lack thereof, with the slave industry. She bobs her head in acknowledgement. "I hope so," she murmurs. "I will forward your acceptance of this offer in full to the appropriate personnel who will then contact you with details of pick-up time and coordinates. Do be careful, Captain. We've lost one already, and can't afford to lose another. Moreover, the Caspians /really/ can't afford it. Thank you for your honesty and enthusiasm in the face of this challenge. I hope all sides, sans Empire, find the outcomes rewarding." Vane thrusts her hips back, chair rolling from the desk as she rises a little shakily to her feet. Swaying, more than shaking. "To /profitable/ endeavours!" she cheerfully pledges, bottle sloshing loudly in her hand as its thrust upwards in toast. In spite of herself, Ambrosia is induced to raise her infused mug in turn. "To endeavors worth the price." Standing more soberly, she puts her mug back down, to the side. "Prepare yourselves for the heat ahead. We'll be seeing you on Tatooine." Vane doesn't put her drink down. Rather, she up-ends the bottle in a deep quaffing of the contents and wipes her mouth on her sleeve. The dry-cleaning bill must consume a good portion of her takings. "I look forward to it..." the coarse, low rumble of her voice reverberates over the link as the transmission ends and the terminal falls dark.
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