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"Actually, I came here alone in my transport," Doc explained, "your loadmaster is unloading things as we speak." He takes a sip of his drink and continues, "Med Force One is a true dream but getting it here is a project." He then grins, "Besides, I keep a pretty good medical kit with me on my transport. If you need it, I can check those wounds and see how they healed up after I rest up a bit."
He again sips the Black Ale, smacking his lips a bit. He then nods with approval, "Hey, this stuff is pretty good."
About this time, some men from the loading bay come through with several boxes, not even seeing Doc sitting down, "Hey, Tim, look at this stuff." He then hands Tim a bottle with red liquid in it, "Coalition Vodka, cases of it, right off of Doc's ship." That was about the time he noticed Doc. "Oh, heya, Doc." Doc just smiled.
"Didn't know if you had any of that," said a smiling Doc to Tim, "let me know if you need more."
He then looked around, still shuffling the cards and grinning, "My goodness, a married man could find himself in a lot of trouble here."
Finnegan is nearly speechless, well, as much so as a Scottsman can be.
"Caw, Doc, now 'ats some fine treat, an' sure!" He rests a calloused hand on Holliday's shoulder. "Aye I'd pay a king's ransom for a steady supply o' tha' spirit! Hell, Oi'll trade ye fer a few kegs o' Invergordon Black, as ye likes it so well."
He nods to Tess. "Lass, see tha' th' good Doc 'ere dinnae take offt wifout at least a keg o' the Black, aye?"
The flame-haired Concierge nods and punches a note into her ever-present datapad. "Done, Congressman." she answers with a wink. "I've even had a kilo of smoked Gaian Wildebeast added to his manifest, by your leave."
She sashays off toward the end of the bar to discuss Schedules with Pip. As she passes the pair she flashes her train-stopping smile at the Zoner. "Enjoy your stay, Doctor."
"Good lass, that 'un." Finn says with a sigh. "An' as to me condition, Doc, Oi'm bloody fit as a fiddle, Oi is. Many thanks to ye n' yers. Oi 'ardly need th' cane no more, Oi just keep it around as Oi feel it adds a touch o' dignity to this old smuggler."
He smiles again, and slides a stack of C-notes from his sporran towards Holliday. "Consider this 'ere a donation to yer medical supply chest, aye? An' a tip fer th' fine vodka."
"Ye'll join me in a round aye?" He asks, pointedly looking again at Holliday's blurring cards as he heedlessly shuffles. "An' a game p'raps as well?" He looks around, seemingly troubled. "Speakin' o' p'rapses, p'raps Congressman Beast'll show 'is mug an' join us fer a few..."
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He could tell that Tim wasn't taking no for an answer. Putting the C notes in his inner pocket, he smiles, "I'll put these to very good use. Thank you. And of course I'll take some of those kegs of black. My ship is empty so I have the room."
He thinks for a moment, "You have plenty of the vodka for a good while. I'll see how much more of it I can get. I can also get some Blood Wine from my Klingon friends. It's a bit harsh but once you're used to it..."
He begins shuffling the cards, "How about this. House takes half of what I win.....which could well be a lot."
"Aye we'll just see aboot tha' laddy!" intones Murphy loudly and mildly intoxicatedly. "S'cuse me boss."
He nudges aside his Captain and drops sloppily down into a barstool. Reaching into his pockets, decks of cards, -some obviously marked and some unopened-, dice, a roulette ball which wobbles oddly, and a set of iron jacks spill out onto the bar.
"Oi 'eard ye'z quite th' gambler, Mr 'Olliday." He smirks with a sloppy 'Arranmore' crooked grin. "I'm nae slouch meself. In fact, Oi'll double wha'er ante ye can drop." he winks and signals the barkeep by tapping two fingers repeatedly on the bar.
From his other pocket a loose wad of various currencies from fifteen different worlds appears and skitters across the bar towards the old Zoner Captain.
Johnny, smiling his barkeep smile, drops a bottle of Arranmore Oban and four glasses in front of them
Finnegan shrugs and smiles at Doc Holliday. "S' nary a game goes down in 'ere wha' Murph's nae got 'is fingers in. Hope ye dinnae mind if 'e joins us, Doc." The old Scot guffaws. "He'll be bettin' against his own bloody pay, so I'm hopin' he'll go easy on us, aye?"
Andrew Beast stepped into the bar, dressed in fairly informal attire, with a small-ish crate balanced atop his right shoulder. The crate flashed Rheinland colors and was wallpapered with various official stamps and insignias. He headed straight to the counter and laid the crate down in front of Johnny.
'Here's a lil' souvenir from Rheinland, Johnny.'- he said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small plasma cutter. He sliced the top off the box, revealing a lineup of fine ales and assorted beverages.-'I got about 10 crates, big ones, of each of these lovellys here. Someone will bring 'em here soon.'
He turned back to the entrance with a can in his hand.
'Oi, Dekker! Catch!'- he said, tossing the can. Dekker caught it in the palm of his enormous hand and looked at Andrew, confused.
'A lil' gift from me.'- said Andrew, with a lighthearted chuckle.
Andrew only now notices Finnegan and Holliday, sitting not far from him. He grabbed one of the finer looking bottles from the crate and made his way to them.
''Hoy there Finn! Ye could have told me we had such an illustrious guest in the pub.'-he pulled out a chair and sat next to them.-'Been a while since we last spoke, Doctor Holliday. I believe I never properly thanked you for saving Finn's hide back then.'
Andrew notices the deck in Doc's hands and lays the bottle down on the table.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The thick boots of a new patron echo down the hall. Straight, black hair, almost to her neck. A leather jacket and pants, being patched in some places, but relatively intact. A pair of welding goggles sat on her forehead, with various tools, none electronic, on her belt. She examines the bar, walking slowly to the bar and ordering a glass of ale...retrieving her drink, and paying, with a small tip, she wandered over to an empty table and sat, taking the goggles off and placing them down on the table next to her.
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
Johnny pulls the empty bottle from the table where Doc Holliday, Murphy, and Congressmen Beast and Finnegan are engrossed with a rather raucus game of cards. From his other hand he produces a new one, fresh from Andrew Beast's recent haul, clunking it down between the gentlemen.
Declan the doorman wipes his hands after picking up yet another Bretonian MI-5 agent by the shoulderblade and tossing him unceremoniously into the gangway. "An' dont come back, lawman!" he shouts over his shoulder. His rich baritone echoing off the walls.
He smirks, heaves his huge frame onto the stool by the door and crosses his arms.
Elsie 'Pip' MacLaugh bounces over to the newcomer's table. "Why, ello ma'am!" she says in her usual energetic and welcoming manner. "I see'z what the barkeep got you a drink already, can I offer ye some nosh? We've a fine Gaian lungfish special tonight, Chef's been hard at it all day."
As she speaks she notices the goggles on the table. "Nice eyegear, if I may say so meself. Look Gallic, they do. I got mine from from Bourge-en Brasse. A tip from a smuggler captain. Nice fella, too." she rattles on with her trademark three-pots-of-coffee, high-pitched, jackhammer inflection. "Theyre awful fancy. Where'd ye say ye was from, miss?"
She smiles. "Where am I from? Nowhere constant...I'm th' mechanic on th' Novus Domus...'tis a salvage frigate, an' it seems t' break more often than not..." She chuckles lightly, drawing small patterns in the condensation on the outside of the glass. "As for th' offer of food...Not really hungry, but thank ya' for th' offer...I'm Sarah, by th' way..."
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
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Doc worked hard on his old bad habit.....gambling....and he didn't lose a step, running a table on behalf of the house. Even with a good, hard buzz going, he kept on collecting, at one point handing Mr. Finnegan a satchel of C-notes, "winnings for the house." He made it a point to entice visitors to the table, not the locals.
"So tell me, Tim," he asked while shuffling at one point, "you get those Bretonian MI's in here often? I noticed you threw one out not long ago. I thank you. I don't need their press." He quickly toasted the tossing and started dealing the next hand. As he was, he noticed the leather wearing brunette walk in. He was just tipsy enough to forget that he belonged to someone.