Jonathon strolls down the finished corridors, smiling in appreciation at the unshoddy work. "The time has come," He thinks, "Time to finally move into our new offices." He continues to wander through the corridors, familiarizing himself with the layout. When he notices a sign on the wall. A big smile breaks out on his face.
"The Ship's Inn" the sign said. It wasn't new like the rest of the surroundings. Jonathon chuckles. "Just like Sophie. She brought the sign over when the old Inn closed down." He wonders if they are open for business yet. With this many workers still on the station finishing up the last minute construction. He didn't think she would want to miss out on any of the potential income.
Jonathon walks into the bar looking around and nods in appreciation. Currently there wasn't anyone sitting at the tables, bit he did hear some noise from the back.
"What does a man have to do to get a cup of coffee around here!" Jonathon called.
A yell comes from the kitchen in the back.. "Can't you see that we are closed?" As Sophie comes through the door and stops. After a few good minutes of cursing at me in Hispanic about me not being around and where is my paycheck, she comes over and kisses me on the cheek. "It is good to see you too, Jonathon. I'll get some coffee brewed just the way you like it. Just don't forget my paycheck!" and walks back into the kitchen.
Jonathon chuckles and sits down at the bar, making a mental note to not ever miss her paycheck. Especially since Sophie makes the best coffee in Sirius.
Sasha Castille strolls by the door, hearing Sophie scold Jonathan, she quickly slips in and finds a seat opposite him.
"Ah Sasha," he begins, "I've been looking over your reports...it seems that you have been keeping something from us..."
"Moi?" Sasha, protests...
"Mmmhmmm. Looks like you've increased crew moral and thus profits. I'd like to know how"
"Well...", she paused to take the cup of coffee Sophie handed her after she gave Jonathan his, "It was something James came up with... a new crew rotation scheme...that allows for more time off, when we refit", she finished.
"Well... I'll have to speak with James about that... sounds like it could be useful for everyone...and of course, I'll take all credit for the idea"
"Of course!" Sasha shared his grin and sipped her coffee.
Stirling walks into the bar, his tie loosened, formal jacket draped over his shoulder and smears of blood on his cheek and blood spatters on the collar of his white shirt.
Grabbing a cigar out the box with origins from Crete he lights it with a match, in his cupped hands. His jacket drops on the floor and he kicks it towards the bin. Looking around for bar staff he shrugs and gives up, as he sees none. He sits down on the nearest stool and slowly cleans his face with a beautiful handkerchief.
As he walks down the once familiar corridors towards the Inn, Jonathon thinks "It has been a very long time since I have set foot in this station. Too long.." He drifts off into recollecting the countless miles, the various stations and planets and the myriad of people he has come across, he notices that he has arrived at his destination.
With some trepidation Jonathon enters the Inn. Knowing that if Sophie is still here she will be upset. However, that is a small price to pay for the best coffee in Sirius.
Jonathon looks around and sees a man who only could be Stirling, Since the only time of ever seeing him was on holo vid communications.
Jonathon walks over and holds out his hand. "Greetings, I am Jonathon"
Placing the handkerchief inside his pocket, Stirling stares at the hand of that from Jonathon and shows his own hand, with blood and grime on it.
"I'd shake it any other day, but as you can see I'm slightly inappropriate." Stirling says to the man who has guided him upon becoming a vice president in the IND.
He then sighs and shakes the hand with a firm grip of Jonathon. "Ah, you're used to that too most likely from the past. If not, my apologies."
"I haven't had a drink yet and dying for one, what can I get for you?"
Jay slid out from behind the desk in his office on the top floor. He had to admit he had
missed the view, and the old cut and thrust of the business. "Time for coffee and a chaser."
He thought out loud, and headed for the private lift down to the back office in the bar.
He was glad back in the day when they were still on Newark he had sold half the
business to Sophie. When he said sold, more like given it to her for putting up with
some of the less then civilised behaviour that she had had to put up with past.
She was the only one who had any chance of controlling his brother on a binge.
Must be the bit of Outcast in both of them ... "Serena, could you contact Miguel Marron for me, on the high encrypt side
channel, details are in my private listing. Set it up for when I get back from lunch,
I doubt he is around right now."
She was working out well, time to steal her off the temporary staff company and
give her a raise.
The lift doors slid silently open and he stepped in, there was only one button and
he gently pushed it. The doors closed and the lift descended.
They opened again after a few seconds, into a medium sized room with a couple
of desks with all the usual business and communication paraphernalia spread
around. He still liked working from here when he didn't need to be upstairs, the
bar was next door. The coffee just tasted better.
He pushed the old western style saloon bar swing doors open and stepped out
behind the bar. "Hey Soph, I know it's early but you got customers and me here ... Can I trouble you
for a triple Discordia blend Americano and my bottle of best Maltese. Stick whatever
these reprobates are having on my tab please my dear."
He slid round from behind the bar as Sophie came in from the kitchen, and pulled
up a stool ...
Some say he is a proud member of: "The most paranoid group of people in the Community."
"A bottle of that Rioja, the 801 reserve if you still got it. Two glasses."
It was a familiar voice - the Manhattan accent with a little Maltese - but probably an unexpected one. Hernandez expected the bar's inhabitants would be turning around in three... two... one...
He removed his sunglasses and slung his jacket over his left shoulder with a glance at the pretty young thing on his arm.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, Patrick and St Joseph, Joe Hernandez as I live
and breathe, what the hell brings you down here ? Slumming it away from the
Manhattan social scene ?
I'm sure we can find a bottle of the good stuff for an old colleague."
Jay wandered into the store room returning with a dusty bottle which he passed to
Sophie to uncork carefully. Going to have to let that one breathe for a little while, hate to spoil something that
has lasted that long by necking it."
The bottle went on the the back of the bar. "So Joe, aperitif for you and the young lady ? Sophie sort out Stirling and Jonathan
while you are there.
Well Joe, tell us what's been happening ?" ...
Some say he is a proud member of: "The most paranoid group of people in the Community."
"Well, this and that... Olivia..." he said turning to the young woman he'd arrived with. "Do you mind entertaining yourself for a moment? I just need to have a little business talk with Jay for a moment. It'll be terribly boring..." He gave a half smile as the girl nodded and walked off towards the bathroom with a slightly raised eyebrow.
Hernandez turned back to Jay, pulling a silver cigarette case out of his pocket and lighting up. "I'll give the good news first. You know how I owed Senor Zavala Junior a pretty considerable sum of cash after he found out I'd been a little creative with my paperwork? Well... That's more than returned."
He took a long drag on his cigarette, casually using a pot plant as an ash-tray.
"The bad news is how he took all the cash back... I now lack a house, own no ships, no stock and have no capital. Everything I have is tied up in her..." he coughed and smiled, nodding towards the bathroom door
"... assets... shall we say." He paused. "I've been living off the wage she pays me to manage her funds and a few of her business holdings. Olivia is the daughter of a certain Lord Tarquinn Smith Smythe Smith - The Earl of Malmsbury - winner of the international matchbox-jumping gala, hosted on planet cambridge, and in his youth he was renowned for his commitment to the noble sport of beggar kicking... If that gives you any of idea of the sort of people I'm dealing with here... But as you can guess, Bretonian old money is running into a little bit of trouble in this day and age..."
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