Chance Encounters
The Dregs Bar and Grill - Persephone =>Persephone<=
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This bar makes /no/ claims that it will please an 'upper scale' clientele. This place is for real spacers that are looking for a drink, and a sandwich. In here you will find no pretensions of superiority at all. This is a simple place, where working folk gather, and the rough and tumble feel right at home. There is a long bar adorned with pock marked brass that is very well worn from years and years of elbows and glasses, but the bar top is kept well waxed and polished. There are /no/ bar stools. The patrons are expected to belly up to the bar, and vie for position, something the patrons here are used too. There are several tables in the center of the room, and booths against the walls that afford a modicum of privacy for those that desire it. Anyone putting on airs in here is often put in their place by the barkeep and proprietor Gus.
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"I don't know 'bout you guys, but I am certainly hoping that the next few days go without any hassle. I mean, jebus, it's been crazy." Gabriella says, swinging into the door that Alabaster holds open. Slender silver crutches are tucked beneath her arms, hands wrapped carefully around the handles. Her movements don't seem to be too hampered by the crutches, implying she had had practice. The right foot was tucked up slightly behind her, clad only in a black and white striped sock. "So, you guys are buying the beer this time, right?" She says with a light chuckle, glancing over her shoulder to Tyr and Wren as the group trickles into the bar.
Alabaster Smith chuckles at Gabriella. "Ah suppose Ah can afford to spring for a round or two," he allows. "The least Ah can do given how hard everyone's been working lately." He holds the door open until everyone's entered, before herding them towards somewhere to sit.
Chance sits with his feet up at one of the central tables. One empty glass of beer, and two full ones reside in front of him. The table just to the right of his holds 2 rather rough looking patrons, one who is missing an eye, the other his front teeth, carrying all the right weapons of their trade. Both their faces are quite red from laughing. Chance seems in the middle of telling a story and continues, "And that's when the law arrives and arrest me for littering." The two thugs rise, laughing even harder. The one without teeth takes a step over and slaps Chance on the shoulder. "Mate we gots ta go. Biz n all. But be here tomorrow and me n my mates will buy yur eats." Chance lifts a mug to the pair as they exit the room and then takes a sip. He then looks over at the group entering the bar and gives a small smile.
Wren is paying no attention at all to Gabby as she chatters on. She's too busy surreptitiously stealing glances at Tyr when he isn't looking, and taking in the chaos of Persephone when he is. Ducking through the door Alabaster holds, she pauses at the entrance, letting her eyes adjust before moving on.
Tyr grins at Gabby, shaking his head at her. "Well, if you want," he says. "Least we can do for the invalid, right?"
Gabriella grins at the white suited man behind her with a wink. "Damn skippy." She grumbles, gesturing towards the table in the process of being abandoned. "That looks good." She says, shuffling back out of the way of the two thugs skipping out, her eyes watching them briefly before scanning the sole occupant of the table beside it, giving him a once over. A half smile, half smirk rises and she glances back to the others. "Good view, and everything." She mutters, half under her breath, before she swings that way. "Pitchers!" She calls to the nearest wait staff. "A coupla pitchers and a... four glasses." A look is shot towards Tyr, a mock death glare shot his direction. "Hey, you watch it buddy, I still have to yell at you, y'know." She grumps.
Chance watches the incoming group with interest since the bar actually seems rather deserted which is a rare occurrence. His eyes fall on each one and he looks them over, maybe even a bit too closely, and nods to those that meet his gaze. A small smile tugs at the corner of at the left side of his mouth.
Alabaster Smith quirks his eyebrow at Gabriella. "Oh, don't yell at poor Tyr too much," he says wryly. "Ah'm sure he's been trying his hardest, after all." He settles into his seat, making himself comfortable, briefly returning Chance's nod.
Tyr blushes and runs a hand through his hair. "Well. Just because certain officers try to be all heroic and crazy when they're injured. I mean." He shakes his head. "I'm here to guard against that sort of stuff."
For once, Wren isn't liberally decorated with the nutrient solution she works with, presenting a relatively clean face to the world at large. Her gaze slips past Chance without taking much apparent notice of him as she trails after Alabaster and Gabby, joining them at the table. "Yelling...?" she wonders vaguely, letting her eyes wander around the room.
"Oh, he's been doing a great job, 'cept when it comes to following orders." Gabriella says, shooting another slightly dirty look towards Tyr, though it was with a smirk. "Hey, I'm not going to get into the specifics of it. I'm out to try and get away from stress and people shoving guns in people’s faces and the like. But you and I are going to have to have a talk." She says, the last sentence carrying a good deal of seriousness and authority. But, the seriousness is shrugged off as she hops over to the table. "You don't mind, right?" She asks, casting a glance to Chance as she pulls out two of the chairs, one for her, and one for her foot, leaning the crutches against the wall as she sits. "And can somebody bring a rag or something?" She calls towards the bar, snagging the used glasses and sliding them onto the next table over.
Chance looks to Gabby and comments, "Your surgeon did a fine job it seems for you to be up on your feet so soon." He looks at the others, "Or has she written her own perscription for bedrest in a bar?"
Alabaster Smith grins over at Chance. "Ah'm afraid this is an unauthorized outing, but Ah'm here to make sure she doesn't extend herself too far. She's in good hands, for the most part."
Tyr draws himself up, finding what might just be a little bit of backbone. "We can talk," he says to Gabriella. "I ain't embarrassed about what I did back there. We can talk." He takes glass as well, waiting for the beer to come.
Wren frowns, hazel green eyes dropping to the table in front of her as she lets the words pour over her in a flood. After a moment she begins tracing a pattern left in a puddle of beer that the former occupants left behind, repeating the simple pattern over and over.
"Bah. Bed rest is for... when you get shot in both legs." Gabriella says, a long pause between the two halves of that sentence as she searches for an appropriate ending. "Besides, I think I've earned myself some kind of vacation, even if it is just for an hour or two." She says with a hint of poutiness in her tone. "Later." She says to Tyr, making it rather clear that she just wants to sit back and relax. Stretching her legs carefully out in front of her, the injured leg tucked out of the main flow of traffic. "And yeah, she's pretty gorram good, though I think it's starting to show..." She says towards Chance, then glancing back to the others. "Y'know... I think she might need more of a vacation than me. I mean, patching us all up /and/ having to put up with Alabaster’s horrrrrible bedside manner." She says with a smirk. Her eyes drifted towards Wren as she settles, a small smile given the girl's way.
Chance motions to Gabby and Tyr, "Ifin you have business ta be settled, then get it done so you both can relax and have a bit of fun." He stands and grabs up his pair of beers, "I'll just wait over here so as to make the listenin in more challenging. But when yur done with biz...well...drinkin is not a fun thing alone."
Alabaster Smith hmphs. "Ah do not have that bad of a bedside manner. Ah was just... not mahself at the time," he protests. "It was the pain medications talking."
Tyr gives a smile at Gabby, "Later." He says it more gently, hoping to relieve some of the tension between the two of them. He sidles closer to Wren, giving her a quick grin before looking back at the group at the table with him.
Hazel eyes dart up to look at Chance, almost as if startled by the man's presence-- though he was here before them, right? Wren stares for a moment, and then she looks back to Gabby and Tyr, forehead creasing in another frown. "Strange attractors," she mutters shaking her head, letting her gaze begin to drift again.
Gabriella snorts softly at Chance. "There's not any need to be running off. I don't discuss private business in public, and I do my best not to dress anybody down in front of anybody else if I can help it." She says, waving him back down to his seat. "Oh. Of course it was, preacher man." She says dryly, half rolling her eyes. "Hey... didn't have a chance to thank you for your offer of help last night." She adds, shifting in her seat somewhat, extending a hand half backwards.
"Name's Gabby." She says by way of introduction, then gestures to the others. "Tyr, Wren, and Alabaster. Also known as preacher man." She comments with a grin, motioning to each in turn.
Chance offers a flash of a smile and a graceful nod of his head, "Well met then. I am Chance. I take it you are all of the same crew unless I have missed something?"
Alabaster Smith nods to Chance. "You'd be correct," he says agreeably. "We're off of the Invictus, and right now, Ah'd say we comprise a fairly good cross-section of the crew as it stands. Ah'm First Mate, Gabriella's our computer guru, Wren works in Hydroponics, and Tyr handles animals... not that we often have any." He grins. "Ah suppose we all have other functions," he adds with amusement.
"I do other things," protests Tyr. "Like, you know. Deal with people who get shot. Though I'm not a surgeon. Or cook. Or -- whatever needs doing. I'm handy." Also, he has a beer now, so this is a plus.
Wren blinks a few times, refocusing on Chance and canting her head to one side as she considers him. "Chance... patterns in chaos," she murmurs, a faint smile forming as she looks down at her hand where it's been tracing patterns. "Fluid," she adds.
"Meh." Gabriella says with a shrug and a grin between Alabaster and Chance. "Technically, I'm the Bosun, Chief Engineer on the Invictus." She says with a sigh, pulling a pack of smokes out of her pocket and offering around. "About time!" She says with a grin as the pitchers of beer. "Might as well come on over and sit where everybody can see you." She says to Chance.
Chance nods slowly and his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as Alabaster speaks. He grins at Tyr and raises his beer to him, "We two are somewhat alike then. I can patch and sew, heal and mend, do the things that need to be done to get going again. I am, however, let us say, technologically challenged." He smiles at Wren, "We all have patterns, even though some are never the same from one moment unto the next. Fluid. I like that. Especially coming from one that deals in such things." Chance moves over and takes the nearest seat. "My thanks. I was getting tired of holding two beers." Suddenly a thought hits him and he drains one of the two mugs and sets the empty on the table. "There. Better."
Alabaster Smith chuckles at Chance's solution. "Brilliant," he agrees. "Ah approve of your decision, mah friend." He nods to Gabriella. "That's true, Ah always forget you rocketed through the ranks," he teases. "And Ah was teasing you, Tyr, you're so much more useful than Ah claimed."
"Fifteen and sixteen," Wren notes to herself in a singsong tone, a faint shudder running through her, and she edges just a bit closer to Tyr. The rest of the conversation swirls over her without much notice.
"And besides, what if Wolfe gets sick?" asks Tyr. "You've got me. So that makes me incredibly useful right there." He adds, helpfully, for Chance's sake, "Wolfe is the skipper's dog." He scoots back towards Wren.
Gabriella grins at Chance as he tosses the beer down, tapping a cigarette out and sticking it between the corner of her lips as she leans forward and pours a round for all at the table. "Aye, rocketed, indeed." She says with a laugh to Alabaster. "Either because I'm so damn good... or... " She pauses and shrugs. "Or else Grey just felt bad for getting me all banged up so much since signing on." She says, honestly sounding as if she wasn't sure which it was. "So, you're a doc, huh?" She asks, glancing back to Chance, head canting to the side to give him another once over. "You on a crew somewhere?"
She tucks the pack of smokes away, coming out with a Zippo and flicking it open, flicking the flame on. "Or you one of the clinic's docs?" She asks around a handful of puffs to light the cigarette. The zippo is snapped closed and tucked away, fingers rescuing the cigarette, exhaling a long swirl of smoke towards the wall as she snags the closest beer.
Chance grins slyly and says, "Someone has the test the Skipper's food for poison after all. I'm glad to know who's next in line." A solemn nod then as a memory crosses his mind, "While I'm no surgeon, I am a battlefield medic. So I've seen the worse that medicine has to offer." He shakes his head to Gabby, "No current assignments. Just poking around to see what the Fates have to offer." He offers to the group, "What kind of ship is the Invictus? Do your run cargo or missions?"
Alabaster Smith nods to Chance. "Back in mah wilder days, Ah spent some time as a battlefield medic, but mah leanings were more to healing of the spirit, as opposed to the body. Ah still remember how to dress a bandage, though." He smiles brightly. "The Invictus is primarily a cargo-runner, but we occasionally, and increasingly of late, find ourselves taking on some more esoteric missions in the off-times."
"Which is a real mild way of describin' what we've been doin' lately," comments Tyr, though he does shoot the Preacher a smile.
The puddle of beer was wiped away when the new pitchers were brought over, but they've created their own little puddle of condensation on the table, through which Wren drags a finger. Head bowed, she's lost all track of the conversation as she traces a pattern over and over, the form slightly disrupted occasionally by an almost invisible flinch.
"Aye, what he said. She's a Dragonfly class, though they may not exactly be what you were asking, she's a gorram pretty bird, too. If I say so myself." The first part of Gabriella's previous words were accompanied with a nod toward Alabaster, then glancing back to Chance, taking a long draught from her beer, setting the glass back down on the edge of the table, fingers hooked around the handle. "You got problems with skipping on the south side of the line of the law?" She asks, giving him another once over.
Chance nods at the information presented to him. His eyes fall to the table a moment as he perhaps is trying to gather his thoughts. He shakes his head, "I don't mind taking a chance.' He shakes his head sadly at his own joke and then looks up, "More I can be of assistance as a Merchant, negotiator, or linguist when needed. As you can see, I am a man of many words, so put them to use when I can. And if you are all terribly bored, I am a bit of an entertainer as well. Some say I'm pretty good, but usually they have run out of options."
Alabaster Smith grins at Chance, nodding. "Those are all very good skills," he agrees. "The Invictus is the sort of ship that likes to be prepared for all eventualities. We never know just what we're going to get wrapped up in, or how viciously someone's going to try and kill us."
Gabriella can't help but chuckle at the first comment that Chance emits, taking another long swallow, followed by another drag from the cigarette, a rapid flick against the ashtray sending a small flurry of white ash into the glass tray. "Well, if you're looking for a job, there's a couple things you'll be needing to do first." She says, propping the cigarette on the edge of the ash tray long enough to pull the ponytail holder out of the multi-colored ebony hair and scruffle it loose around her, tossing the tie on to the table.
"One, I'll be needing your ident card long enough to make sure you're not wanted for mass murder or anything." She says with a wink. "Second, we'll have to meet about you behind your back and decide whether we think you'll be a good fit." She says, with a half smirk. "And lastly, if the first two go well, you'll have to have a meet and greet with the Captain, seeing as he has the final word." Gabriella adds, the cigarette recovered, a drag taken and exhaled, and another drink from the beer.
Wren smacks a hand down on the table, making an abruptly loud sound. "Vacation. Relaxin'," there's a short pause as she searches for something else. "Drinkin'," she adds, glaring around at the table.
Tyr reaches out to take Wren's hand. "It's all right," says Tyr, trying to calm her. "It's all right. Just, you know, we're always lookin' for new people."
Chance says softly to himself, "There are things meant to be counted and numbered. Loves lost and lives taken. Promises made and mistakes taken. But never let a number distract us from a chance to dream." He stands and drains his glass, "Well, I'm no mass murderer yet, but I'll agree to your terms, whatever those might be." He sets the glass down to the table and then in one fluid movement as if by magic produces a throwing knife in his hand and throws it to the door. He nods to the group as the blade buries itself into the door jam, "Oh. And I can fight. Up close and personal like." He then moves to the door and turns to Gabby, "Invictus. I'll drop by and see what you might have to say." He pulls the knife out and skips it back inside his coat.
Alabaster Smith grins, looking to Chance, eyebrow arching at the thrown knife, briefly. "Gabriella's a bit blunt, and Ah'm not sure when she usurped mah role as procurer of crew," he says wryly, "but that's about the long and short of it. We're a small but tight crew, a little odd in our own way, and we try to do honest business whenever no one's shooting at us."
Gabriella jumps slightly at the unexpected sound of the smack, a brow arching upwards, her gaze darting to the source, brow arching even further. "Huh." She says as she processes, and tilts her head towards the general direction of Alabaster. "I'm thinking... we might've just been told to save it 'til later." She says in a half whisper, giving a glance and a grin his way. "Sorry, Wren." She says apologetically to the girl with a flash of a smile. '"You're right."
Her head tilts to the side as he speaks, curiosity visible as he rises, brow arching upwards at the appearance of the dagger. "Nice." She says, as if pondering, and nods. "You do that." She says, leaning forward to crush out the cigarette in the ashtray. She glances back to Alabaster with a grin and a wink. "Don't you know, preacher man? I've after your job, of course!"
Chance gives the slightest of bows to the group, "Well, consensus of spirit on a small crew is an important thing." He smiles so easily, "I perfer not to shoot things, and would rather get up close and personal in many more ways than hurting someone." A nod to Alabaster, "I'll look you up to see what questions you will have for me." He then turns smoothly and slips out of the door into the glow of the neon lights.
"They can still use NICE WORDS," Wren states, green eyes flashing with irritation edging towards genuine anger. Of course, then there's a blade flying through the air. She clamps her mouth shut, staring at the man with the knife. "Not a vacation," she asserts in an aggrieved tone.
"You have a good night, and try and stay out of trouble." Gabriella says amicably towards Chance as he departs, draining the last of her beer and pushing it towards Alabaster. "Fill her up, would you?" She says, too lazy at the moment to lean and take care of it herself. Besides, she'd done it last time. A rattle, and out comes the orange plastic bottle, a couple of pills tapped out into her palm and in turn to her lips, the lid closed and slid away once again.
Alabaster Smith blinks at Wren, and says soothingly, "It's okay, Wren. This isn't technically work, this is just is talking and making a new friend." He grins. "He seemed like an interestingly nice fellow, or at least tolerably interesting." He fills up Gabby's beer, and tops himself off as well.
Tyr eyes Gabriella for a moment and her pills, but then goes back to Wren-wrangling. "It's all right, Wren," he says, looking to squeeze her hand if she'll let him. "We're all right here. We're fine."
Wren shakes her head, slumping a little in her seat in defeat. "Not the point," she mutters, letting Tyr take her hand, but not returning the squeeze.
"I don't know... I kind of like him." Gabriella says, nodding a thanks to Alabaster and leaning back, lighting another cigarette. Either she'd missed Tyr's look, or had ignored it, because she didn't seem to react, instead, she glances to the group at large. "I think Zee would too, and she has been running on the low side of the energy scale as of late." She adds, taking a drag, and a swallow.
"No, technically, Wren's right. I did say I wanted to avoid business." She says, with a small shrug. "Sometimes, things just can't be avoided. Like bullets, and flying fragments of ship. They find you when you least expect them!" She says, raising her glass up. "So... what're we drinking to tonight, my fellow Invictians?"
Ming enters the room confidently, though his dress sets him far enough apart from the other patrons that many eyes turn to him as he approaches the bar. He walks up to the bar and slips beside Gabriella with only a minimal amount of jostling. "The unusual, Gus" He says as he settles in and begins scanning the room in earnest.
Alabaster Smith dips his head in agreement. "We do seem to put an awful strain on poor Zahara. Another person with the right sort of training might give her some breathing room. Ah've been wanting a proper secondary medic for a while now."
"Folks are all sayin' I'm improper?" asks Tyr with a little chuckle. "Well. Yeah. He seems all right. Kinda rough and tumble, but." He shrugs.
Wren frees her hand from Tyr, rubbing her forehead as if trying to erase something there. "Nice words, is all," she mutters darkly, making a face.
"Well, sure, farmboy. You're right proper. Sometimes, a little too proper." Gabriella says with a bit of a giggle, glancing to the newcomer that slides to the bar from her table along the side wall, her legs outstretched in front of her on another chair, she against the wall to keep out of the main flow of traffic. Tyr, Alabaster and Wren sit at the table around her, a couple of pitchers of beer and five mugs scattered in front of the occupants. "Aw, nobody wants to come up with a toast?" She asks with a hint of a pout pulling at her lips, glancing momentarily towards Wren, head canting to the side. "You all right, mei mei?" She asks as an aside.
Alabaster Smith smiles brightly at Gabriella. "How about, we drink to the crew, and still not being dead?" he teases her. "It seems to be a good, appropriate sort of toast." He glances over to study Wren, worriedly. Seems he's concerned about her, even if he doesn't say much about it at the time.
"I'd be good with drinking to not just being dead, but that's fine enough with me," says Tyr, taking up his glass. He, too, keeps an eye on Wren. Worried.
Ming quickly realizes that the person he's supposed to see isn't here and instead focuses on his beer and French fries. Though he isn't obvious about it, he seems to be paying particular attention to the table beside him.
Sighing a little, Wren looks back up to Gabby. "Just tired," she murmurs, scrubbing her hand across her face. "Why's a drink toast?" she wonders abruptly, swerving the conversation.
"Well... he's brave." Gabriella mutters as her eyes linger on Ming's order. "Actually eating the food here... that's something I've never tried." She confesses. "Aye... I suppose I'll drink to that." Gabriella says dryly at Alabaster's comment, her gaze drifting back to the others. She starts to raise her glass but pauses as Wren speaks up, head canting to the side. "Well... another definition for the word toast, is a small speech of common celebration or purpose that is made before all those involved in the speech take a drink. Kind of... a bonding thing." She adds.
Ming chuckles at Gabriella's comment. Though it wasn't directed toward him, he decides to answer on Gus's behalf "The fries here are some of the best in the verse, as long as you're not dieting." Picking his plate up from the bar he holds it out to her "Here, try one."
"It's not like we're actually putting the drink in the toaster," clarifies Tyr for Wren's benefit, as if she needed further explanation in the matter.
Alabaster Smith grins at Wren’s question, and nods as Gabby elaborates. "Well said, mah friend. It's not real toast, like she said. It's a different kind of toast."
Wren nods a little at Gabby, though from her expression the explanation wasn't quite what she was getting at. Tyr and Alabaster collected are given the Look for their particular explanations-- something along the lines one would receive if you asked if water was wet.
"Oh, no..." Gabriella says, waving off the offer of the fry. "I'm not really in the eating mood." She says dryly. "Thanks, anyways." She says, taking another drag from her cigarette, exhaling a lazy smoke ring, watching it for a moment, her eyes then sliding back to Wren to await her reply to the explanations, a loud chuckle escaping. "Ah, I think that says it all." She says with a grin, leaning in slightly and raising her glass. "To crew. To not being the one doing the dying." She says, her tone a bit off at the last bit, but she doesn't wait too long for the others to join in, taking a long drink of her beer before slamming the glass down on the bar. "God, that's awful stuff." She gasps.
No drink sits before Wren, who has basically ignored the beer all evening, and therefore has no glass with which to share the toast. She does, however, watch the others rather curiously, her gaze slipping over to the man with the fries with unhidden interest.
Alabaster Smith nods to Gabby and drinks as well. "Hear, hear." He peers at Wren. "Do you want anything at all to drink, Wren? You don't have to have beer," he says with a soft chuckle. "We'll spring for whatever you like."
Ming notices wren's look and offers his fries to her as well "Though I'll warn you, you'll want to wash them down with /something/."
Tyr winces at the beer. "Wow. This is bad," he says to them. "But it's drinkable in a literal sense, I guess."
Wren blinks at Alabaster, and then looks around the room as if noticing that they are in a bar for the first time. "Whiskey," she responds, as if testing out that answer. Unlike Gabby, she doesn't seem to be averse to taking food from someone she's never met, plucking one of the fries off the man's plate. Holding it up, she inspects the greasy morsel before popping it into her mouth.
Ming smiles, seeing that his offering was accepted. He turns to Gus "Can I get a Whiskey for the young lady?"
Alabaster Smith grins at Ming. "Now, now, we can't let go you buying her whiskey. Not without a name from you, at any rate," he says. "At least, Ah'm fairly sure we haven't all met, not in an official sort of way, anyway."
Ming turns back to the table holding Wren's drink in his left hand. Before handing it to her he offers his right hand to Alabaster "Dr. Ming Binshou. Pleasure to meet you." He then puts the glass in front of Wren.
The fry disappears, and Wren chews for a moment, her face undergoing a series of changes as she swallows, all of them ambiguous as to her approval for the food. "Wren Pearson, pleasuretomeetyou," she answers, the words running together as she reaches for the whiskey and takes a swallow. Her eyes bulge, but at least she doesn't spit it out this time.
Gabriella falls silent for now, content to slink down in her chair somewhat, head resting back against the top edge of the chair behind her. Her lids sink half closed, but her eyes continue to drift around the persons at the table, and the newest addition. She slides the mug of beer to rest on her hip, the other hand lazily bringing the cigarette to her lips again, taking a long, slow drag from it.
Alabaster Smith offers cheerfully, "Alabaster Smith, very nice to meet you," as he shakes the hand firmly. "These are mah colleagues off the Invictus. Tyr Bannik, Wren Pearson, and Gabriella." He watches Tyr leave, and grins. "Ah reckon he has an early morning tomorrow."
Wren swallows the whiskey, eyes tearing somewhat. "Yours... better," she notes to Alabaster, before she turns her attention to Tyr as he slips out. A small little wave is given to his retreating form just before the door to the bar closes behind him.
Ming says in English, "Mind if I take a seat?" Ming asks, as he takes Tyr's place at the table "So, this is the crew of the Invictus. What sort of work do you all do, if I may ask?""
Wren blinks a little as the newest arrival takes a seat next to her. "No..." she answers, shaking her head and eyeing the beverage waiting in front of her as if it might be slightly hostile. Still, she gamely takes another sip.
Still saying nothing, Gabby's eyes follow Ming as he takes a seat without waiting for an answer, a brow arching upwards a bare fraction of an inch. Another swallow, another drag.
Ming smiles at Wren "Maybe whisky wasn't a good first choice then. For you I bet Gus would even put together a nice mixed drink." He looks over the Alabaster and says conspiratorially (is that a word?) "If we tried ordering something like that for ourselves there might be trouble."
Alabaster Smith grins at Ming. "The Invictus is primarily a cargo transport," he explains. "And Ah suspect Wren is mainly objecting to the lack of quality of the drinks here, as opposed to the drink itself."
Blink, blink. Wren peers at the man sitting next to her. "Mixed with what?" she wonders, before glancing over to Alabaster and nodding slightly.
Gabriella leans to the side just enough to crush the cigarette out in the ashtray, the hand dropping back again to her lap to wrap around the mug of beer, fingers twining together around the glass.
Ming says in English, "A cargo transport?" He says with a meaningful look over at the relatively fresh wound Gabriella before looking back at alabaster "I suppose the 'verse is a dangerous place for everyone." He takes out a few business cards and puts them out on the table so each of you can easily take one if you like (The top of the card reads 'Mobile Doctors' it identifies the speaker as 'Ming Binshou, CEO' and has as a tag line 'we still do house calls'). Then looking back to wren he continues "As for you, my dear, they mix it with various juices, sodas, and other types of alcohol. It improves upon the taste considerably."
"Ohhh," Wren mouths the word softly, considering the idea. "Improve upon the taste," she reiterates, apparently quite keen on the concept.
"Ball's suck." Gabriella states suddenly, her words slurred slightly, her gaze sliding towards Ming, then Wren. "How 'bout a coupla.... Long Island Iced Tea's." Gabriella calls loudly to the nearest wait staff or bar tender, whichever was closer, her head lolling back again, staring up at the ceiling.
Alabaster Smith nods to Gabriella, sagely. "They do, occasionally, don't they?" he asks sympathetically. He peers at Ming, curiously. "Mobile doctors, eh? That's an awfully useful thing to have."
Wren startles a little, looking over at Gabriella. "Somethin's wrong with her," she observes with some concern, peering at her injured crewmember. Stretching her arm out across the table, she pokes the woman. "Hey!"
Ming watches Wren and Gaby's interaction with amusement, choosing not to interfere in crew business. Instead he replies to Alabaster "It's quite useful. You'd be surprised how many people can't or don't want to go to see a doctor in an office. The downside, of course, is that I spend quite a bit of time on shuttles and transports. Either working or battering passage for the availability of my services." He pauses for a moment before asking "Does the Invictus have a full time medical staff?"
"Owwwww." Gabriella complains at the finger pressing against her, giving Wren a rather confused and puzzled look. "What didya do that for?" She asks, brows furrowing. "Owie." She says again to reiterate, one hand freeing itself to rub at the injured flesh.
Narrowing her eyes, Wren studies Gabriella. "Your brains're soggy," she determines, pressing her lips together in some disapproval. Her eyes glance back to Ming and Alabaster, one hand flattening itself further against the table as if trying to press it away.
Alabaster Smith sighs, shaking his head. "Ah suppose it may be getting on time to drag, or carry, mah crewmates home," he tells Ming regretfully. "As for your question, we do have a doctor, and several people trained in various forms of medic operation."
"Well, they are my brains ta soggify." Gabriella says, slightly petulant, glancing towards Alabaster at his words. "Zshe's a good doc too. Patches me right up every time I get 'sploded." Gabriella announces emphatically, draining the last of her beer and setting it on the table with a thunk.
Ming looks from gab to Alabaster "You might be right about that." and stands "It sounds like you're in good hands with, but if you ever do need the services of my company, just send a message to the number on that card. In any case it's been a pleasure meeting you all." he says, and offers hand shakes all around.
Wren stares at Gabby for a long moment, and then abruptly retreats back across the table to sit properly in her seat again. It almost looks as if she's been stung by something that was said, and she focuses broodily on the tabletop. "Pleasure to meet you," she echoes Ming, taking his hand if it is placed within her view, but not looking up to see the farewell.
Gabriella's eyes have already drifted closed as she finishes proclaiming Zee's wonderful skills, which unfortunately keeping her from noticing the hand given in her direction but she does do a general flap in the direction of the door that she thought he'd be heading through.
Alabaster Smith shakes Ming's hand when offered, and smiles again. "We'll certainly keep that in mind, thank you. Never know when something like that might come along." Then he turns his attention towards trying to figure how to coax his crewmates home.
Wren takes another sip of her drink, one hand idly describing a pattern through the combination of spilt beer and condensation that has collected on the table. It takes some effort to pull her attention away from whatever internal landscape she's focused on.
Gabriella lets out a heavy sigh, her hand coming up to swat at the strands of hair hanging in her face, then dropping to the table to pull a cigarette from the pack.
Take me back to Wren's RP Logs
