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| - Nepsa Ice Fields Richard Rimmer is currently standing on the ice fields, wrapped in a large silver parka jacket as the wind whips about him, gazing over at the jail cell that is situated in the middle of one of the games sites, with little flags tied to it. He puffs on a large cigar, before coughing horribly and stubbing it out on the forehead of a passing alien tentacly creature. "I swear, you can't take them anywhere..." he mutters hoarsely "Ugh, I think my breath mints froze," comes the deep, clear voice. Cronos Dust approaches, wearing arctic gear suitable for a Hoth rebel soldier, although it is stylish and fashionable. Big ski goggles are over his eyes, and a tin of Altoids is in his hand. "Ah, well." He throws the Altoid tin down and it shatters like glass. "Richard Rimmer, I take it?" the space lawyer says, thrusting out a heavily gloved hand. "Cronos Dust. I came as fast as I could when I got your message." "Ah! Ah yes, the message!" Richard leans closer, conspiritially. "Look, the cream isn't doing much good, and in this cold, it REALLY hurts when I sit down, its like someone stuck pins up my..." His face pales. "Oh. OH. Yes. Space Lawyer. Yes. What do you thinK?" "What do I think?" Dust replies, steam rising with every syllable. "Well, first I think you should tell me what you actually brought me out here for -- all you put in the message was that the EDC needed me for an important case." Richard Rimmer sits down on a chair made of ice, squirming slightly as he sips on an iced frappe with an umbrella in it. "Look, Jayson's a good guy. Sure, he's got all this /creepy homosexual paedophillic/ stuff going on with that Timothy kid, but he doesn't deserve to be locked up. Apparently they found his goggles at the scene of the crown jewel theft, and now want to ship him off to the Filk Mines" "Who found his goggles? Is this -- oh, lord, is this the /Meccannibals/ crown jewel theft?" Cronos Dust lifts his coggles and removes his glove so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. "Let me guess. They're demanding he confess or they'll send him to the Filk Mines. Ugh, I hate Meccannibal cases." Richard shrugs. "Weeeell the 'witness' was a Meccannibal, the crown jewels belong to Nepsa. They don't really, they're nicked from everywhere all over the galaxy, but they carved the word 'NEPSA' onto each of them in big letters and so say that they're theirs" "I remember studying that in school," Cronos nods. "It set the most baffling precedent I've ever read about. Did you know if I wrote my name on your forehead on Nepsa, you would become my actual property, despite being a sentient being?" Cronos replaces his glove. "Well, a sapient being, I guess." "Yes, I studied that in school too" Richard lies as he spills his latte, which instantly freezes onto his crotch, forming a gigantic brown icicle. "Look Cronos, I don't like lawyers, you're all creepy and papery, but we need Jayson out of there, because otherwise I'm next on the pecking order. What are your fees?" "Well, I'll need accommodation on Nepsa for myself and my gorgeous paralegal," Cronos muses. "But four thousand a day. That's in Astorian debit chips, by the way. I read the papers, and Earth currency's a bit too unstable for my tastes." Richard looks at the hessian sack sitting beside him, which is full of bawling street urchins in cloth caps. He counts them quickly. "Damn" he mutters, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. "Looks like I'll be busy tonight then!" "Yeah, orphans are losing value ridiculously fast," Cronos says, giving the kids a sympathetic frown. "Ever since Future Ric Flair abandoned the planet Turnbuckle, their economy's gone down the toilet." Richard rifles through his wallet. "Well, we've got EDC accounts in many currencies, including the Martian Banglehorn, the Gragloxian Wampatail, and the often-lethal Bargolothian Boomerang-Notes" "Astorian debit chips," Cronos reaffirms. "Shouldn't be too hard if you really want your boy off the hook." Richard Rimmer picks up his phone and dials a number. "Yeah. Dave? Go get the chipper, and find a girl called Astoria. No, any one will do..." He snaps the phone shut and holds out a hand. "You've got yourself a deal, Mr Cronos!" Cronos gives Richard's hand a manly shake. "Good. I'll get your boy off -- and if they won't let him off, I'll make sure he'll end up in a minimum-security Filk Mine, do maybe five years and get out on good behavior." Richard Rimmer looks at his hand, rather disgusted as Cronos finishes the shake. "Uh... great. That's great. Now go, snap snap! Time is money!" "Don't I know it," the lawyer replies, turning and walking off. A NEW CASE BEGINS
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