Finnegan sloshes ale in runnels down the side of his great flagon as he strides to meet Arbiter Trenton, smiling hugely.
He profers his hand, inclining his head in a bow of respect to the scion of Congress.
"Hoy, Arbiter!" he nearly shouts, "S' a foine sight seei'n ye'z 'ere, an' this ol' space rat be doon well, aye. Thanks fer arskin'."
tendons creak in forearms as the two Junkers shake hands firmly. "Oi do 'ope this 'eres an uniffical visit, Oi do. "s been a year n' a day since Oi sat back by 'yon fireplace and gabbed wif a friend." Tim indicates a pair of overstuffed leather chairs near the offices with a dripping wave of his flagon.
Pip bounces up to them, tray in hand. "Gov'na! Mister Marcus!" She pipes, curtsying to the 2nd in command of the Congress, and winking at his XO. "Wha'll it be, gents? Ale, porter, whiskey, sidewinder fang?" She bounces on her heels awaiting an answer, beaming her firefly smile.