"Now then, that's an interestin' idea. Ain' sure how much Sylpheed's gonna like the idea, but I'll put it to him all the same. So, yer talkin' 'bout an 'undercover' type deal. Interestin', I'm great at undercover!" It was obvious that Clif was not great at undercover. The bald stares he had been giving all night were nothing if not overt, but the enthusiasm was there.
Clif threw back the rest of his drink an' burped loudly. He was obviously becoming quite intoxicated and the usually stupid grin on his face slowly spread to epic proportions. "Best I... uh... *hic* see 'bout that then..." He pats himself down, looking for his datapad, finally setting it on the table. "Ain' no use visitin' ol' Sylph when I know he'll jus' be in a bad mood, lemme jus'... jus' write him a message 'bout it."
He proceeded to type out a message detailing the plans quite nicely, considering his condition. He slid the datapad shut and burped again. "Claymore, was a pleasure. It's too damn bad we don' got you guarding Cassini these days, but with a schpeel like that, who can blame ya? Now if ya don' mind, I'm gonna go get me 'nother drink. Gotta steady my... steady. Ya know?"
Giving a terrible semblance of a salute, Clif stumbled back to the bar, calling for another round.
