*The nearly complete offices of <strike>The Drunken Junker</strike> the unnamed pub*
*Finn looks up from one of a pair of expensive desks, and smiles*
*Vidfeeds behind him show the interior, work crews bustle about*
*A plate of steaming steaks sits beside his datapad*
Mister Owen.
Since ye've no intention o' payin tha' bill ye owes me, wha' in th' name o' Sally makes ye think I'd pay yers?
Finn grins toothily and mirthfully 'Cept what ye know me ta be a man o' my word, so ye got lucky this time, boyo.
Here's yer ruddy paycheck ya git.
An' while ye dinnae deserve no tip, as ye stiffed the old barstaff, ye DID bring me some extra Luxury foodstuffs, which Oi'm munchin' on as we speak. Thanks mate.
Aye an' on th' subject o' them Holo-tainment bands? That's ruttin' cheatin, innit?
Shoulda bloody taken them if ye wanted ter get payed, aye?
Now, git lost or Oi'll toss ye a 3-6-9.
Finn smirks widely and stuffs a hunk of steak in his mouth. 'At's 3 doctors, 6 nurses, an' 9 months ta pry me boot outta yer arse!
I'll give ye 'ponce'!
*The offices of the Drunker Junker Pub*
*Invergordon Station, Inverness*
*Workers are installing the security door to the Pub itself*
Oy, Cap'm Scander,
While I'm nae in need of th Hull Panels, as tha' particular commodity's been delivered three bloody times now, Oi can still resell it to th' Pilgrim yards 'ere, so I'll certainly pay ye fer it.
Th' High Temperature alloy howe'er is much needed ta hammer out th' bartop wif, an' ye've me gratitude fer tha'.
Finn rubs his chin through his beard Problem Oi 'ave is this. Ye dinnae leave me no account names, laddy.
While I'm a man o' me word, Ye're makin' me out ta nae be so.
Ef ye'd be so kind...I'll do th' same.
Thankee.
*Offices of the Drunken Junker Pub*
*Invergordon Station, Inverness*
*Tim steeples his fingers in front of him*
Cap'm Scander,
Consider yerself payed fer both materials delivered.
To the rest o' ye lot, Oi done payed three times now fer gear wha's already been deliver'd by anover pilot.
'Dis 'ere's th' end o' that trend.
If ye cannae be bothered ta read the manifest, Oi cannae be bothered ta pay.
Clear?
Finn is about to tap the comm panel but hold his finger over the button and scowls. Oy! An' not one o' ye rotters 'as pirated a bleedin' nickel off't some corporate nancy.
Where's th' bloody fun inn'at, Oi ask ye?
*Bridge of the Wake*
*Manchester system, location redacted*
Scander,
my good man...
Are ye quite sure ye've layed off th' drink, boyo?
Cause if ye check the running supply list, //in the first post// you'll see, quite clearly I might add, that I've already recieved them goods what ye brought. A number o' times, laddy.
*smiles broadly, but hesitantly* An' if Oi hadn't already stated that I'd nae be payin' people fer th' repeat busines...aw hell, Oill send ye a few creds fer th' trouble an' all....but tha's bloody IT.
Eye Tee, IT.
I think ye'll find tha' wha' I needs most is Wine, Gaian Wildlife, an' Jumpgate/Tradelane parts.
In fact, son, tha's ALL I need.
If ye can get yer hands onn'at without crashin' inter summin' in yer drunken state, I'd be much obliged.
Wake out
.:j:.
Congressman Tim Finnegan
Coileach an Taobh Tuath
*Bridge of the Wake*
*Culebra Docks, Puerto Rico system*
Aye, well now.
Yer surely a sight fer sore eyes, lad, an them parts'll go a long way an' sure.
Me brewer tells me wha' 'e can break em doon into a fine set o stills n' mash tuns fer our brew'ry operation.
Oi thank ye fer yer time an' discretion, Cap'm
Ye'll see Oi'v thrown in a wee bit fer ta pay yer tab wif.
Open tabs dinnae get me staff tipped often, an'' blieve me Oi gets an earful when Oi ferget them lot! *grins*
Again, Master Stonefist, ye've th' thanks o' the Gordon Junkers.
Wake out
*Screen Snow*
.:j:.
Congressman Tim Finnegan
Coileach an Taobh Tuath