Standing slightly bend over the bar, with a gulp of whiskey in his throat Stirling starts to laugh, although no actual sound is produced, much like the laugh of an army scout deep into enemy territory. His whole body is shaking and his eyes are closed, producing a small tear, grin on his face fully extended. He holds himself together after a few seconds and gulps the remain of the scotch down, warming the corridor of his throat and eventually his stomach.
"Beggar kicking...." He mumbles. "In all my years I have never heard of that."
Grabbing his handkerchief he dabs the corners of his eyes who are blood-shot red due to the laughing fit. Grabbing the coffee in front of him he pauses turning around when facing the new, or should he say, old-comer, Joe Hernandez.
"So, it boils down to credits. And why would one like yourself be inclined to pay me back and not perform a similar trick you have masterly performed on the Zavala's?"
Joe Hernadez poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle, deeming it now suitably well aired and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh come on... You know it's near impossible to fool someone like that if they're the sort of person who got hired for exactly that sort of behaviour. One of the things I love about this company is the fact it's near impossible for any one of us to screw the other, because we're all too damned good at it."
He swirled the wine around in the glass, breathing in the aroma.
"Juan Zavala was far too caught up in his ideals to notice. His son was a little more pragmatic, and frankly needed cash... None of you are terribly idealistic; you're all pragmatic businessmen. If someone was witholding money from you, you'd be able to smell it a half a light-year away... So, enough to start to rebuild the logistics fleet, enough for just the one sizable cargo vessel, and a month's pay for a crew... Say, two hundred? You'll get a return of that plus another hundred in less than two months."
He took a sip from the glass and looked up as Olivia walked back out of the bathroom.
Stirling stirs in his pockets and finally finds what he was looking for. Placing his cupped hand on the bar he makes a sliding movement towards Joe. The card with gold lines bumps into Joe's hand.
"That's the slide card to excess hangar bay E-41. In it you'll find Jarren Brennen's Shire. Identification papers and such are all taken care off."
Opening his neural net he hums in a approving tone. After finishing his business which only took a few seconds he looks at Joe again.
"You're designated as the new proud owner of that Bretonian constructed rust bucket. Enjoy her."
Preston turned into the bar tucking a freshly printed set of business cards into one of his suit coat’s inner pockets. As he looked down, the glint off a piece of metallic dust on his cordovan dress loafers drew a frown.
“Well, I don’t suppose this will do, will it?” he asked himself. He pulled a silk handkerchief from another coat pocket and wiped the contaminant away with an gruff expression mirroring the manner in which a mother scolded her children after an afternoon mud wrestling. The silk fabric found its way comfortably to the trash bin near the door.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mortlock speaking with several individuals Preston had yet to meet. Preston kept his eye in their direction but moved from the hips toward a young woman carrying a platter of glasses.
“A glass of Chivas Regal Royal Salute if you have it, dear. If not, send word to the Judgment, and we’ll have you stocked properly before the night is over.”
He pushed his index finger along his brow to tuck his greying hair behind his ear.
“Don’t let the attending androids startle you, they’re quite friendly.”
Empty handed, but hopefully not for long, he returned to the gathering. Pulling a smile across his face, eyes squinting, he put his hands behind his back, bowed slightly, and made a slightly audible “hmph.”
“Mr. Mortlock, pleasure to see you.” To the others, he extended a hand. “Lawrence Preston. The pleasure is yours, I assure you.”
Not recognizing the man who bowed in front of him he slowly went for his knife in his right chest pocket. He then stops the movement and a smile breaks on his face.
"Probably the fumes from Joe's glass that made me unable to recognize you, this is Joe Hernandez, by the way."
Pointing to him.
"This here is Jay and this old-timer there is Jonathon. Don't let the greyness foul you. He is quicker and more ferocious than his 'granddad' look is transmitting."
He grins towards the other vice presidents respectively.
"Welcome Lawrence. And call me Stirling. Care for a drink?"
Preston gave his new acquaintances a curtly nod as he shook their hands.
"Gentlemen, a good day to you," the same narrow-eyed smile greeting Joe, Jay, and Jonathon. "All this talk of ferociousness, and here I assumed all was well with the world."
Preston had a seat in a large, rather un-opulent leather chair. The table in front shared ash trays as willingly as it did coasters, the glass top doing all it could to keep its woodworked façade from being ruined by either.
"Well, I believe a drink will be coming shortly." He opened his palms. "Please, don't let me interrupt whatever I have seemingly interrupted. I mainly came by to share a bit of good news."
He shifted slightly to the left in his seat and put his hands together in his lap.
"We've managed to gather all of the company's legal materials electronically on board the Judgment, though I do admit the glory of fine paper complaints, depositions, and motions are lost on many people. Too much money, I assume. Regardless, the Judgment will soon be properly connected to the Division's assets in Kusari, Rheinland, New London, and New York so that the legal personnel in each House should have easy access to any materials or records. Hopefully, we'll be able to cut some costs and personnel for the time being."
The waitress set a tumbler on the table in front of him.
"I haven't had the time to review the most recent files myself, but let me assure you, my role here is to represent my client to the best of my ability. In this case, my one and only client is the Division – not its officers, not its directors, and not its employees. The legal process is more powerful than any other, which gives us the glorious opportunity to hunt down debtors, thieves, tortfeasors, and all others who might harm the Division to the edges of the sector. There homes, their gold, their credits, all of their assets opened to us in a way no other 'medium' can replicate."
His narrow-eyed grin returned.
"Since I represent the Division, her wrath extends internally as far as it does externally. Should her members choose to abuse her, they will be hunted down, their suits re-woven into napkins for starving Hispanics, their assistants finally demoted to the whorehouses they're certainly already fit to run, their homes, ships, boats, cars, all sold for scrap to reimburse the Division for any harm that may come to her."
Otis Jethro walked into the Ships Inn. It was like taking a step back into his past. It had been about 5 years since Jethro had come in here. He had been back on the station a couple of months now, but he had for some reason avoided coming into the in. Maybe he was avoiding Sophie, maybe he just missed his old drinking companions. Coming back to the IND had been no small thing for Jethro. When he left, he had decided he was tired of the life. He had left Winchester and Simon and the rest behind. 5 years of living a quiet existence had left him bored. When he was approached to come back, his excitement to get out of that existence had gone faster than the memories of his old friends.
Walking up to the bar, of course, he saw her, and she saw him.
"Well, I was wondering how long it was going to take you to get down here." the woman said, taking a rocks glass off the shelf and pouring from a bottle of bourbon. Before Jethro reached the bar, the glass was in front of him.
"I..I'm not really sure what to say, it's been busy." Otis stammered out, clearly on the defensive.
"Busy? You've been on the station for two months! You think I wouldn't know that you came back? What the hell is wrong with you Otie?" She shot back.
Jethro's head dropped, she was the only one who ever called him that name.
"Sophie, I'm sorry, I just..... "
"Oh shut up and sit down you idiot. Have your drink, I need to go take care of them." She said gesturing to the table in the corner. "Wait here, I'll be back."
The doors opened once more and for a second there, Peter Hansen stopped his walk into the Inn, giving the electric doors a short inspecting look.
"Still no one bothered to repair the door's dampeners? Just don't tell me no one noticed the terrible sound they make? Reminds me of Maltese cave bats.. gives me the shivers."
Expecting everyone to have heard his entry speech, Hansen walked up straight towards Otis' table. His characteristic walk always had a slight touch of a military march. Large steps, no loitering around, aiming straight for a target. Whenever Hansen was to approach a possible conversation partner, he or she had his undivided attention.
"Otis"
He grabbed a stool and sat down right in front of Otis Jethro, sweeping aside his flawless looking black leather coat. Not waiting for a reply, Hansen continued..
"There are many eventualities I am preparing myself for, before entering the Inn, Otis. The Reichskanzler having a sip of coffee naked at the bar? I am prepared for that. A delegation from Ouray Xenos having a meeting with the Liberty Navy Council on table 4? I would have been prepared for that aswell. And now look at you, Otis. You stumble in here after all these years, no hailing, no friendly hello.. Have you even considered asking if one of the VPs were around?"
His face formed a smile and he reached his hand out for a greeting.
"Good to see you, Mr. Jethro. I am not going to ask the where's ans why's, but tell me though... What brings you here after all these years? You look terrible, by the way."
It has been many years since Jonathon had been here. Though not to many to forget where everything was. The only thing that had changed, was the people walking down the corridors..
As he nears the entrance way to the bar, there is some trepidation. The years have taken its tolls, though a bit grayer, and longer of hair, But still immaculate. Jonathon Winchester III enters the bar.
As he enters the bar, with some surprise, He notices Otis and Peter sitting at a table. With them being caught up in conversation, they don't notice him walking towards them. He then sits down nonchalantly.
He smiles with an impish grin and says "Gentlemen, how nice it is to see you"
All he can do is chuckle at their surprised faces....
"Well what the good, God damn, it's the Grey Fox.... The Grey Grey Fox it looks like. Well Mister Winchester, it's nice to see you back here. Seems we are getting the old band back together." Otis said, a grin crossing his face from ear to ear. "Now that we got the company back, we have to figure out how to get back on top. We need t get working and it needs to happen soon. Our stock price is dropping by the day." Finishing his drink, he looked over at the bar.
"Sophie, get over here and see what the cat dragged in!"
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