The Tina Slipstream strolls into the bar, sizing up the place after having heard about it being whispered among the mechs. "Figures, mechs always hiding the good spots away from the femmes." she murmurs softly. Goa's more scuffed and tarnished than usual, sober, and visibly slouched, even in spite of his back's natural bulk. For once, he doesn't have any fuel in hand, and looks almost meditative, soaking in the sounds. Slipstream moves toward him, noticing the slouch. "Relaxing or do you normally have such bad posture Goa?" she asks. Slipstream looks over to the newcomer, "Indeed?"