Star Trek: The Shadowdancer [IC]

[Mincaldenteans]

THE SHADOWDANCER

OOC

“Do I look like your pilot, boss? I mean, sure I can fly this thing probably better than most ‘Fleeters, but I wasn’t design for that, you… you know that right?” Came the irritated voice through the overhead intercom, bringing a wary and knowing sigh from the ship’s captain. His eyes peered at the object from afar - Ignis Terminal, having no inclination to magnify the image of the station. They all looked the same this far out of Federation territory, grimey, old and hodgepodge of parts. The tiny vessel was approaching the station at a quarter impulse speed, making their trip to the docking port another thirty minutes before he released his crew (all two of them at any rate) out to the station to gather whatever they could.

That also meant another thirty minutes of constant complaining unless Nathan managed a topic sufficiently provocative enough to distract their snarky AI.

“I’m a little hurt, you make it sound like you don’t enjoy my company,” the captain said lightly as he checked the ship’s flight path and made sure the ship was following the prescribed path. There wasn’t anything more at a time like this and it wasn’t long before his eyes looked back upon the ever-growing tiny station that would soon envelop them a thousand fold. Short range sensors picked up a Nausicaan freighter passing by, it’s image locked at the right of the viewscreen as it streaked out of the station’s defense perimeter at full impulse, it’s sharp edges and dull hues were an ugly sight to put it lightly.

“Yeah, well, when I have to give you lessons on how to pilot a ship, you’ll forgive me if I don’t exactly jump for joy,” ‘Dancer reported retorted with a huff. A low blow came after, “Maybe if you kept your boy in check…”

“That’s enough of that now,” Nathan gritted his teeth at the mention of him. So much for distracting subjects, he thought to himself and sighed. Suddenly the station couldn’t get closer fast enough.

“I’m just saying,” it went on in a calmer tone, “I’m not Bella or anything, so I can’t exactly talk sense into you, but we needed him and you let him go. We needed them both.”

“Oh look, the station is hailing us,” Nathan said bitterly, clenching his jaw and jabbing his fingers to cut ‘Dancer’s ranting in favor of the bored and apathetic voice of the station’s traffic controller.

“Change your heading to three-eight, mark six, dock at port fifteen. Do not deviate, or you’ll get back in the queue line for the next thirty six hours.”

“Understood,” the captain barely murmured, changing the ship’s course as directed, the image of the station loomed closer now and to the left rather than it’s original center positioning. More vessels streaked past his tiny transport; dozens of smaller craft wisped about like little bees, some were comparatively the same size to ‘Dancer, and a speckle of hulking vessels that looked completely out of place.

The comm-link was cut with a bleep and ‘Dancer took that as its cue to keep going, “Just sayin’ boss, you tossed them both out. Not sure if that was for the best.”

“I didn’t toss them out,” Nathan said sharply as he recalled that particular incident. “I ‘let them go’. There’s a difference. Care to drop that particular issue or do you want me to get Arelle tinkering about your nether regions?”

“Jack ass,” ‘Dancer said after a moment, “Docking procedures are set, I left convenient buttons for you to click on. Be sure you don’t scrape the paint off the port hatch like the last time, captain.”

‘Dancer clicked off with a huff, leaving the captain alone once more on the bridge with the silent chirps and bleeps sounding off from the empty stations around him. He kind of relished the silence, but it was the same silence that reminded him of the better times.

Now, it was a crew of three. Arelle came aboard not too long after Dan, Bella’s, and a few others' departure, and insofar, she was the only crewmember to have stayed any length of time longer than a few weeks. Why she stayed when everyone else hightailed (including those at Rahm Izad), Nathan would never know. As far as he could tell, she was rather… quirky… and preferred to spend most of her time buried head deep in the ship’s on board systems, or in the engine room to keep ‘Dancer in working order. It was enough for him. The next (and newest) crewmember was Banrel, a doctor as luck would have it, and after their previous physician (an old Bajoran bastard) this one was a marked improvement. He was polite with an easy demeanor, but there was without a doubt something about him that Nathan couldn’t put his finger on.

Activating the ship’s intercom, “Arelle and Dr. Keibal: we’re docking in a few minutes. Get what you can at Igris and call me if you find any prospectives. I’ve already sent an ad out ahead, so here’s hoping someone bites.”

‘Dancer slipped in smoothly a few minutes later, having docked without incident (paint intact for her majesty) and Nathan’s ad was transmitted among the dozens that were looking for similar. The ship’s systems were powered down to minimal levels and ‘Dancer was all too happy to tell her organic bipeds to get the fuck out (her words). The AI made a note the ad was received and would be displayed in Ingris main ad displays:

JOB OFFER:

Merchant vessel in need of a crew, 1-on-1 meeting a must. Background irrelevant as long as able to work with a crew and take orders. All prospects work their way up. Permanent position available for the right person.

In need of:
Tactical
Engineering
Anything else of value

Open to all that know their way around a ship and hard work. Will be at Vole’s Nest, inquire with barkeep.

Nathan Farris
The Shadowdancer

[Brusia]

Suval
Ignis Terminal

Suval had just completed his latest odd-job escorting an Andorian merchant who had a business deal on Ignis Terminal with some less-than-legitimate Ferengi. It was the first extra-legal job he had ever taken, and considering how well it paid it was not going to be the last. In the six or so years since his departure with Starfleet, Suval had been barely scraping by taking legal odd-jobs that paid just enough to keep food on the table. In that time he had also decided to explore his Romulan heritage, allowing himself to experience his emotions as the Romulans do. He had been meditating less and less to the point where he recently ceased meditating almost entirely, allowing himself to feel the full force of his emotions. Whether he consciously realized it or not, it was these emotions which resulted in his decision to take up a life of crime.

Using most of the latinum from his escort job, Suval purchased an old Type II phaser from an arms dealer on the station to use in future jobs. Though basically an antique the old phaser was still functional, and the Type I phaser that came attached to it was conveniently easy to conceal. Now armed with more than his grandfather's old dagger, Suval headed to one of the station's ad displays in hope of finding a new job. After a short search, he found a job with a merchant vessel called the "Shadowdancer" which looked promising and made his way to the Vole's Nest per the ad's instructions. Once there he approached the barkeep, ordered a glass of Romulan ale, and asked:

"Are you the man to ask about the Shadowdancer job?"

[Mincaldenteans]

Ignis Terminal
the Vole's Nest

The Vole's Nest was a typical dive bar, one of millions out there that inhabited stations settling in the fringes or forgotten areas of space. It was dimly light and its patrons carried themselves in varying shades of moods and attitudes. Some brooded over their drinks, contemplating their existence and accounting their miserable lives, others flirted with each other (and some) with abandonment - content to live in the moment, while others whispered in the dark, their hurried voices a mix of healthy paranoia and hope wrapped in one. In some ways, it really was like a Vole's nesting ground and one could only imagine the walks of life that graced its doors and took refuge at each booth or table.

This dive was owned by a grumpy old bastard named Gunther. He didn't speak much, and whatever he had to say was usually conveyed through one worded answers or his facial expressions. One could get a lot out of it if you knew what to look for. Suffice to say, many didn't, not Gunther's problem in the end. Come here, get a drink, shut up and don't make a scene. There was a panel at the entrance of the door that declared the bar under the protection of Ignis Terminal's main security, patrons were forewarned, with penalties likely to end with a visit to a Klingon or Cardassian penal colony. So far, only a few incidents colored the Nest, and only because the bloodstains refused to come off.

Gunther was busying readying a black hole for a Lissepian when distinctive tones of Vulcan male caught his attention. He placed one bottle down, his eyes narrowed as his wrinkled face toward the source. Vulcans were a rare sight this far out of Federation space, bunch of do-gooders that taught highly of themselves whether they admitted to it or not. Their egos were on par with the Romulans, in Gunther's less than humble opinion and made for bad customers in the end. Always with the numbers, these 'logical' types were. Tearing away his view of the Vulcan, the old man pushed the drink toward his customer and accepted the payment. When the Lissepian expected his change, Gunther smirked and move away, tossing his towel over his right shoulder and moved toward the other side of the bar.

Shadowdancer.

So, the wayward captain was back. And with openings. And of course he'd pick this place. Gunther didn't reply to Suval, instead he checked his commnet for updates and lo' and behold, that damn captain had made the Nest his meeting spot. One of those stains on the floor was Nathan's fault as far as the old man was concerned. He looked up at Suval then, not acknowledging the Vulcan's inquiry in a standard sense.

"Order?"

[Tiltjuice]

“Arelle and Dr. Keibal: we’re docking in a few minutes. Get what you can at Igris and call me if you find any prospectives. I’ve already sent an ad out ahead, so here’s hoping someone bites.”

"Right away, sir," Arelle said to the four bare walls of the crew ready room. The words came out slurred, though on this occasion helped along by the penlight in her mouth rather than a hypospray to the arm. Nathan had been talking about stopping in at Ignis for new crew for a while, along with the usual resupply routine they did at almost every station along the way, and maybe even a new job. Well, the Captain naturally called the shots, though she had to admit he was considerably better about it than most leaders. In any case, he at least knew enough to look after his people. Especially now that the Klingons were on the warpath, Cardassia shrank bit by bit, and Starfleet grew more and more jumpy by the day. The old, gruff Bajoran physician - physician? doctor, she reminded herself - had probably gone back to join the Maquis. Again, or not. She didn't clearly remember; he hadn't been there long and she hadn't asked much about what he'd been before joining the crew.

The hacker rubbed the side of her jaw in thought, returning to the present. The lockers needed lubricating and the holoemitters dedicated to materializing the changing room walls were thoroughly shot. Again, the three of them had made it work before, with Sickbay, the Captain's quarters, and anywhere at all. The possibility of more crew with unknown sensibilities coming aboard meant that had to change.

A hand dipped swiftly into the side pocket of her close-fit leather jacket, emerging with one of her PADDs. A quick series of taps had the list of items she needed. The penlight clicked off and both items dropped back into the pocket.

She wandered off ahead. Whichever bar she could find would be the first stop.

[Brusia]

Suval
Ignis Terminal
The Vole's Nest

While waiting for the elderly bartender to respond to his inquiry, Suval looked around the bar both to identify any potential threats and also out of genuine curiosity. As Vulcans have little use for alcohol, he had spent very little time in bars in his life and was always puzzled as to why people would spend so much time and money in such places consuming beverages that were detrimental to their health. Now able to take emotions into the equation, he was even more confused as the somber surroundings left him feeling somewhat depressed.

When the bartender finally turned his attention back to Suval, the Vulcan was somewhat surprised when the old human replied with only one word: "Order?" Instinctively he raised his right eyebrow a little while pondering why the bartender hadn't answered his simple question. Then he remembered that where he was, nothing was ever free. He replied:

"A glass of Romulan Ale, if you have any."

He then pulled a few latinum slips out of his pocket and laid them on the bar, enough to cover the cost of his drink plus a generous "tip" for the bartender. He slid the slips towards the old man and continued:

"Now, concerning the Shadowdancer job, do you know where I can find this 'Nathan Farris?'"

[Tiltjuice]

Arelle
Ignis Terminal

The Vole's Nest was the only remaining watering hole on the station, according to the half-lit holodirectory on the wall. The first one she'd visited had been shuttered. "For health code violations" read the sign, though given the bad handwriting, the spider-webbed window, and the dried blood still smeared on the glass, Arelle adamantly doubted that. The other one had seen its barkeep just closing up for the night, wearing an absurdly wide grin and doing her best to wear a Bajoran man. Said barkeep's question about whether Arelle wanted to join them passed without comment, as did the hissed "...bitch" as the hacker moved down the corridor.

The whirring of the turbolift still rang in her ears as she made her way down to the Nest. Keibal might even have to run a check on her for that, she thought with some small amusement as she rounded the corner. The lights inside were dim, fortunately. Ferengi seemed to be the majority here...but the Dopterian off to the left looked promising for the first item on her shopping list.

Feeling more at ease, she slipped into a seat at the bar and watched him for a moment. Seeing nothing, she was about to approach him when a level male voice caught her attention, and she turned.

(snip)

"Now, concerning the Shadowdancer job, do you know where I can find this 'Nathan Farris?'"

Gunther grunted and jerked his chin at the slender human woman with the shock of blue-green hair watching them. A tall glass of ale thunked down in front of Suval, and Gunther's now-free hand jabbed in Arelle's direction to further reinforce the point.

"Close by. I'm his mechanic; who might you be?"

[Brusia]

Suval
Ignis Terminal
The Vole's Nest

Suval turned towards the young human woman the bartender pointed towards, slightly disappointed that he had wasted his latinum on a tip when the person he needed to speak to was seated only a few feet away. When he heard the young woman say:

"Close by. I'm his mechanic; who might you be?"

He ignored the drink being placed in front of him, approached her and replied:

"My name is Suval. I saw your Captain's advertisement for a job and was hoping to apply. Is the position still open?"

He tilted his head slightly while awaiting a response, and hoped that the answer to this question wouldn't cost him any more latinum...

[New Strausberg]

Outside the Vole's Nest

"Well then my fine Klingon friend it seems that we have stumbled across our very first business venture. I can already smell the Latium, we all have to start somewhere you know." The Ferengi smiled and showed the job offer to her Klingon friend. "It will be fun and it will allow us to relax after out last little ordeal don't you think?"

She smiled and showed the offer,

JOB OFFER:

Merchant vessel in need of a crew, 1-on-1 meeting a must. Background irrelevant as long as able to work with a crew and take orders. All prospects work their way up. Permanent position available for the right person.

In need of:
Tactical
Engineering
Anything else of value

Open to all that know their way around a ship and hard work. Will be at Vole’s Nest, inquire with barkeep.

Nathan Farris
The Shadowdancer

"You would be a perfect addition to the crew Alac, your Tactical skills they would have to let you on the ship. Since we are a package deal I will make sure that I come along." The Ferengi seemed very optimistic as usual, she liked to look at things half full instead of half empty.

Alac the once great and now disgraced Klingon warrior could only look over the job offer and think, "You know I am unable to refuse you, my duty is bound to you until I can repay my dept of honor. We will meet him at the Vole's nest then I do not think it will be hard to find." Grabbing their things the Klingon made his final preparation and was soon along with his Ferengi associate at the Vole's Nest...a rather seedy place.

The Frenegi went over to the bar and ordered a keg of Klingon Blood Wine for her associate before proceeding to talk business, "I'm looking for a ship known as the Shadow dancer, any idea where I can find it? And please don't try to cheat me. My friend wouldn't be to happy if I felt I was getting an unfair deal"

Alac growled and waited for his Bloodwine otherwise waiting silently beside his Employeer giving the bar a quick look over it was...lack luster..little really of note and the place smelled rather bad. "Of all the places to go for a job we have to come here...well I guess it could be worse."

[Swith Witherward]

The Good Doctor

Banrel Keibal's dark eyes remained downcast as Nathan's voice pierced the melodious strains of his favorite symphony. The Betazoid paused his careful tool manipulation to regard not only the message but the emoting behind in. Frustration? Bah. There was bound to be some of that considering how long they'd been waiting in cue.

"Of course, Captain. Thank you," Banrel's voice, somber yet warm, reached through the channel to reassure the man on the bridge. "Might get lucky and find a bottle of Enolian spice wine, if you care to join me later?" The invitation was always open, of course. While Banrel fancied his solitude, he was no stranger to spacefaring. Isolation had a nasty habit of driving a man mad.

He slipped slipped the tool into its pouch before stretching his hands towards the ceiling. His to-do list had grown considerably over the past week. It was the little things that bothered Banrel. A faulty scanner here, a bed in need of servicing there. He had enough work to keep Arelle busy for weeks though he was loathe to pull her away from more-vital projects. Supplies were also lower than he would have liked. Still, they would make do in a pinch, and the Betazoid didn't mind taking care of a few simple things himself.

"Still ticking, Lovely?" he plucked the trusty tricorder from the desk and punched a fingertip against its panel. With any luck, he might have finally linked in to the 'Dancer's system. Perhaps? Banrel's gaze slipped from the display's readout to observe the glint of his on reflection on the panel. Meh. Who was he kidding? He was a physician, not an engineer. The doctor ran his fingers through prematurely silver hair, sweeping a few loose strands to the side where they'd be least likely to contrast with his dark eyebrows, and then rose to tuck the tricorder into its customary pocket.

"'Dancer, I'm going out." He didn't expect the ship to reply.


The Betazoid allowed his feet to carry him wherever fate would send though fate. His was a nonchalant gait, the smooth glide which set his species apart from a human. He moved along the corridors until he found himself outside the only open bar - the Vole's Nest. Banrel plucked his hands from his pockets and ventured inside.

The bar wasn't very crowded. A few souls here and there, a few recognizable faces. A thin glass of Trakian ale, a comfortable seat under his ass, and he made himself at home. The doctor couldn't ask for anything better. He raised the amber liquid to his lips and was on the verge of sipping with a sharpish voice pierced the air near him. Banrel sipped and scanned, and the emptiness radiating back told him the speaker was most likely Ferengi. A subtle turn of the head confirmed a female with a Klingon companion.

"It can always be worse," the corners of the Betazoid's mouth curled in response to the companion's lament.

His eyes settled upon the female. Admittedly, he knew precious little about her species. She seemed decent enough although the gentle sway of her lobe-adorning jewelry was a bit distracting. "Keep your Latinum, madam. I suspect the Captain will be 'round soon enough." And then, to help put both strangers at ease, he added, "Banrel Keibal, Ship's Doctor."

[Tiltjuice]

Aquahair

The Vulcan was someone of few words, like most of his species. That she appreciated, and she gave an equally simple answer.

"That's so. Please forgive me for not introducing myself quite yet; I'm not the most cordial to strangers. So, then, Suval, in which line of work are you?"

The gray Starfleet PADD appeared in her hands, powering up as she tried to slip into the Nest's security system. What there was of it. Gunther didn't exactly like Nathan - or his people by proxy - but he turned a blind eye to what she did as long as she didn't actually break anything. Breaking into it, on the other hand, was something entirely different...and a girl had to keep a deft hand, anyhow.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Banrel entering, as well. The doctor would have showed up eventually, but she was glad to have him around. If the Vulcan failed the test, she'd have to do it herself, and given her lack of anything resembling an imposing physique or a generous line of credit, things could get rather messy with the Dopterian.

[Mincaldenteans]

Ignus Terminal
Vole's Nest

"I thought I was pretty clear about the whole 'gather supplies and don't look for trouble part'," Nathan griped, his communicator close to his mouth as he murmured in a heated tone loud enough for 'Dancer to pick up and everyone else to mind their own business. He was passing a pair of Yridians, who cast a weary and curious eye upon the merchant captain, but Nathan paid them no mind, the current situation called for nothing less. The captain entered the bar and immediately took notice of his crewmembers with a resigned sigh, moving past them unnoticed.

"Yeah well, boss, it's not like you gave them specific instructions other than 'make yourself useful'. Can't blame them though, and while we're at it, I'd personally like to know what a Devenian surprise taste like, probably just a cheap knock off to Silvan Surprise," 'Dancer responded and clicked off thereafter. The captain ignored the ship's criticism, clicking off the communication wrist. Nathan had to admit he couldn't blame the ship's observation as Gunther flicked his pinky upon the glass, changing the liquid from a muddy brown to a bright orange. The old man took notice of Nathan's entrance and narrowed his eyes in the most inhospitable manner possible.

Gunther shoved the drink to his customer and made his way around his bartenders, stalking the captain like a caged animal ready to pounce. Nathan had already noticed, choosing not to confront and kept his cool despte his only two other crewmembers in the same bar instead of looking for supplies. Some respect he got, which wasn't surprising and altogether leveled to the crew responsiveness that had signed up for any significant length of time. He mentally groused at their lack of adherence, but couldn't blame them; dwindling supplies and questionable future, the bar was about as close to a job fair as any.

"People," Gunther said, leaning against the bar, the narrowed eyes and unwelcoming gaze unremitting.

"I see that," the captain replied, taking a bar stool and settled himself in it for the moment. Thankfully Arelle and the doctor hadn't pointed to him yet, not when he didnt have a drink in his hand.

"Settle it," Gunther said with even narrow slits as his gaze fell upon the blood stain that remained from Nathan's last visit.

"Yeah, about that, I'm still short on funds. I promise this won't turn out like last time," he reassured, showing his palms in attempt to reaffirm his promise.

"Words," Gunther huffed and moved off, leaving the captain to his beer that was homemade. The old man pointed to a reserved table and Nathan only nodded before Gunther moved off. Typical, the man hardly cared for the captain, yet his willingness to host him spoke volumes.

Gunther made his way to Arelle and the doctor, shoving a drink to their liking even if they didn't know him well enough to admit such a thing. He wasn't a bartender in every sense of his being despite the shit hole he owned. "Captain," he murmured to the two of them when he made his rounds, although it was ladened with disdain followed with the barest nudge of his head to the direction of the captain at the far end of the bar.

"Table's reserved; keep it copacetic," Gunther ordered both 'Dancer crewmembers and moved off to attend to other customers.

It was likely the longest sentence he ever uttered to anyone.

[Brusia]

Suval
Ignis Terminal
The Vole's Nest

"That's so. Please forgive me for not introducing myself quite yet; I'm not the most cordial to strangers. So, then, Suval, in which line of work are you?"

Suval could certainly understand the young woman's hesitance in revealing any information about herself to anyone she met in a place like the Vole's Nest. He replied:

"I understand. I am, or rather was, a Science Officer, but I also have extensive training in the Vulcan martial art of Suus Mahna as well as basic combat training, and so can function in a tactical role if necessar..."

He was interrupted when the bartender gave the young woman her drink, and uttered with a brusqueness that would put even a Vulcan to shame:

"Captain," he murmered ... with disdain followed with the barest nudge of his head to the direction of the captain at the far end of the bar. "Table's reserved; keep it copacetic,"

The old bartender then moved on without giving Suval so much as a glance. The Vulcan looked at the man for a second as he walked away, shook his head a little, then turned back to the young woman.

"I take it your Captain has arrived" he continued "Should we meet with him now, or is there anything else you'd like to ask me first?"

[Tiltjuice]

The Vole's Nest

Arelle tossed her head in a gesture that was both elegant and slummy, but said nothing more. The chilled glass now in her hand was half-empty in the blink of an eye; its contents scarcely mattered as long as she could get some form of relief. In a second blink, the minicomputer dropped back into the pocket from which it had come.

"That's so," she said again. Standing, she held her other hand out, inviting Suval ahead of her. "The Betazoid over there is also with us, and may join us shortly. The Ferengi and her Klingon companion I have not seen before; they may be looking for transportation aboard Shadowdancer, or for employment like yourself."

She straightened up slightly as she approached the table Gunther had indicated, sliding up onto the bar stool next to Nathan. "Fancy seeing you here, Cap. Gunther wasn't too unpleasant, I hope. This is Suval - he's hoping to sign on as a science specialist. And a security or tactical staffer if we need one, I suppose."

[Esternial]

Ignis Terminal

---

Money seemed like such a trivial matter. When checking the balance of his account, William's eyebrows sunk deep into a frown.

His substantial nest egg had shrunk to the size of a quail's, despite the relatively low upkeep of his lifestyle. Actually, no, that wasn't quite true. While he had lived a mostly self-sufficient life during his time in obscurity, the moment he left the anonymous haven he called 'home' he began spending his (arguably) ill-gotten savings with wild abandon. William made little effort to watch his spending, and the metaphorical bucket containing his credits became littered with metaphorical holes through which his credits metaphorically leaked into all sorts of frivolities...metaphorically.

It would seem that the concept of 'watching your spending' was never properly taught to William, but he had a valid excuse: William Corvin's parents were not very good teachers. At least that's what he went with - William's memories of his 'old life' had been locked away a long time ago. There was no point to keeping them around to remind him of his dreadful past. William Corvin was not William Corvin.

Right where was I?

William looked around. He had been strolling through Ignis Terminal absent-mindedly ever since he checked his remaining funds and subsequently began to question his own financial responsibility. As if it were orchestrated by the hand of fate herself, he found himself standing right next to one of the many ad displays on the station, where one ad in particular caught his eye.

What were the odds, really? Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question and the game was rigged from the start.

"...Vole’s Nest, inquire with barkeep." William echoed apathetically. Vole's Nest it is.

Vole's Nest

---

This place reeked of dead hopes and dreams, and William hadn't even entered the establishment. He knew his predecessor had a preference for places like these, which is why he abhorred them. People here were easy prey for a man or woman seeking to exploit them and their talents. Taking a deep breath he entered. He drew the attention of at least one patron, a woman that seemed interested in getting acquainted. William was not, and walked right by her.

"Would you kindly point me in the direction of one Nathan Farris?" He inquired at the bar, as the ad instructed.

[Stormwrath]

Ignis Terminal

Dissatisfaction and sloth. Those were the two things that were beside Adelaide as she stared blankly at the ceiling, watching the lights flicker a couple of times. She held on to the pendant on her neck, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger. A huff and a sigh slipped out of her mouth. So far, the little errands she was doing in and out of Federation space weren't very productive for her, at least in the number of Credits.

She sat up and got off of her bed, walking towards the refrigerator. Inside was a box with a seemingly unrecognizable piece of fried meat paired with mashed potatoes and fries on the side. The shit fast food was serving these days… Once she was finished, she took a quick shower, changed into a loose shirt, dark pants, and a jacket and exited the room with her backpack.

Out of the inn she went and began to continue her search for any interested individuals who want her services as a smuggler. So far, no luck. Some of whom she approached already had people transporting for them and evading customs authorities, others didn't want to have to do anything with it since it was unlawful. She hoped those people didn't report her to the station authorities. Still others didn't agree since they didn't want to pay her.

Hours had passed, and no clients yet. In fact, she had almost got into trouble with a certain Vulcan who threatened to report her. Boy, that was close. But still she had no task. Figuring that perhaps she needed a break from searching, she decided to go out for a drink at a bar somewhere. She felt like having a fruit cocktail with a light dash of vodka.

Indifference clouded her mind as she continued to walk, until a holographic ad appeared to her left. The guys that posted this were looking for crew members to serve on their merchant ship. Wait, they had tactical job offerings? Was it even a merchant vessel to begin with? For Adelaide, this might be interesting.

She arrived at Vole's Nest, and was greeted by the disorganized sounds of all kinds of people talking to each other over some bottles of alcohol. There seemed to be a lot of lowlife bums drinking booze today, at least, that was in her perception. One of them placed his upper body on the table, slurring as he stared blankly at her. Yeesh, that guy should probably get off the ale puddle on his face. Rolling her eyes, she continued making her way past the customers and approached the barkeep.

"Hi," she tried to get his attention. "One strawberry sunrise, no ice."

[Mincaldenteans]

Ignus Terminal
Vole's Nest

What the hell was this? Gunther's eyes narrowed, the old man's scowl was becoming less unwelcoming and threatened to lean toward curiosity, but he quickly stifled that. There were a dime a dozen like 'Dancer looking for a crew and in less than an hour almost four strangers had inquired about that bucket of bolts. The old man had taken a look at the ad: it wasn't eloquent, there were no fancy words to attract so much attention... and perhaps that was the reason. Bah, these strangers looking for Nathan sure knew how to raise curious stares and faint murmurs in the dark. Gunther did not appreciate that, he liked his patrons depressed and full of woe rather than the sickening level of optimism that pervaded the atmosphere in a matter of minutes.

The old man barely registered Arelle moving away, busy tending to another customer's order (A strawberry surprise? Well rum, a mix on tranya, and some strawberry flavoring would have to do) when another voice caught his attention, "Would you kindly point me in the direction of one Nathan Farris?"

He let out a grumble under his breath and looked up with the same scowl he gave everyone that had entered the bar. This one looked completely out of place. Gunther took a long look around, eyes slowly cataloging everyone within sight with little concern to his indiscretion (and rudeness for that matter) while he kept William waiting. The barkeep locked his gaze upon Banrel, who was still speaking to the Ferengi and her Klingon dog, and telegraphed two simple words that was sure to be picked up by the doctor. Too many, his message projected out, filled with disapproval and annoyance that said more than his words. At least Gunther hoped the doctor would understand what it meant; he was Betazoid and their species loved to tout their perceptiveness.

The old man's gaze fell back upon William: he didn't like his demeanor, or the way he was dressed, or the way he looked. Plainly did not like him. Not his problem in the end and while the man stood out like a sore thumb in his bar, the sooner he was out the better. Gunther hazarded this would likely be the only time he'd ever see William in here. He huffed by way of a response and jerked his head to the left at the far end of the bar where Arelle and the Vulcan fellow had gone.

The barkeep moved away and caught the Captain's eye, barely nodding that he was sure Nathan would understand: the usual booth behind him was open. Grabbing the towel on his shoulder, he began wiping off the counter.

"Fancy seeing you here, Cap. Gunther wasn't too unpleasant, I hope. This is Suval - he's hoping to sign on as a science specialist. And a security or tactical staffer if we need one, I suppose."

"No more than usual," Nathan answered loudly enough for Gunther to hear. The old man snorted.

---

"Suval, was it? Science, security or tactical? You sound like Fleet, why do you sound like Fleet?" The captain asked bluntly as the trio took their seats in the booth. It was large enough to seat ten and the only one far enough from snooping eyes and ears. It was also the only spot that had a dampening field; job interviews were not the only things that transpired in Vole's Nest. The captain settled in comfortably, assessing the Vulcan and his appearance. Too tidy, even for a Vulcan, there was little flare to him (yes, Vulcans appreciate colors). Nathan didn't even bother with the emotional aspect, 'constipated' barely described it.

Taking a swig of his beer before continuing, "I'm not too fond of 'Fleeters on my ship. They don't spell trouble, usually, but their moral and ethical brainwashing tends to rub off badly on the rest of us."

He leaned in some, beer bottle still between his fingers. The Vulcan's default impassive stare was annoying, and Nathan narrowed his eyes to ask, "What's your story?"

[Swith Witherward]

Vole's Nest

Banrel's smile curled a bit more as Gunther's annoyance washed over him. Dark eyes momentary rested on the disapproving barkeep. Too many? Indeed. In fact, the upbeat energy radiating from the employment-seekers threw off the dank and dreary vibe that normally permeated every nook in the Nest. The doctor pursed his lips thoughtfully as Gunther's attention turned toward William. Banrel blinked. The man offered no more flavor than the Ferengi standing beside him.

Nathan's voice lifted above the din. Plucking his drink from the counter, Banrel shelved his attempts to find William's surface emotions. "Please excuse me," the glass raised a fraction of an inch in parting, leaving the Ferengi and Klingon to make the choice to accompany him.

"Captain, Arelle," the Betazoid courteously nodded at both before joining the group.

[Esternial]

Vole's Nest

---

He didn't need the active perception of an android to notice the disdain he was receiving from the barkeep, though William had a feeling that this was his standard demeanour to anyone with the gall to enter his bar. The man's not-so-subtle communication towards Banrel wasn't hard to pick up on, and William felt the bartender was doing a fairly decent job at making people feel unwelcome in his establishment, wondering how successful his watering hole might be if he put that energy into running his business. Then again, living at Ignis Terminal probably didn't offer many positive prospects for the future, so William could empathise with some effort.

"Much obliged." He replied politely to the barkeep's gesture, and followed the man's directions after ordering a stiff drink. He didn't specify anything in particular and when he took a sip all he could tell was that the clear liquor in his glass had a particularly sharp taste. Bit of dick, wasn't he?

Shrugging it off, William made his way to the far end of the bar, where a few others had already gathered.

"I take it this is where the interview takes place? Interesting choice of establishment"

[Brusia]

Suval
Ignis Terminal
The Vole's Nest

*snip*

Suval's interview seemed to be getting off to an inauspicious start. He wasn't terribly surprised that Farris had identified him as Starfleet, after all, even a dishonorable discharge couldn't undo the traits and mannerisms picked up over decades of service in a military organization (to say nothing of his résumé), but he was hoping the Captain would be more amenable to hiring someone with Starfleet training and experience. When the Captain asked about his "story," he decided he might as well tell the truth now and risk not getting the job, rather than lie and risk what would almost certainly be far more severe consequences if the Captain and crew would discover that he had lied to them sometime in the future.

"You are correct" Suval replied "I was once a Starfleet officer. In fact, I was the Chief Science Officer of the USS Bismarck until I was dishonorably discharged 6 years, 1 month, and 15 days ago for lying on my Starfleet admission form. As for my 'moral and ethical brainwashing,' I have learned these last few years to keep my morality to myself..." That was certainly the truth; he had learned the hard way that the only thing less popular than Starfleet morality in places like Ignis Terminal was Vulcan morality.

"Before you make your decision as to whether or not to hire me" Suval continued "I hope you will take into consideration my training and extensive experience serving aboard starships and not solely my former employer. After all, I calculate the odds of you finding another individual with my level of experience on a station of this size to be approximately 8762.7 to 1."

[Tiltjuice]

Vole's Nest

"Good evening, Doc," Arelle replied, in that strange blend of polish and offhandedness. "Have you seen anything interesting, then?"

The smooth-faced man who had trailed after Banrel spoke up, and she cocked her head, studying him for a brief moment. Definitely not a 'Fleeter. He did look like a bundle of fun just waiting to be unwrapped (or perhaps vice versa), however, and she tipped an eyebrow at him.

"Take a seat. Please. Next in line after the Vulcan."

She ruthlessly repressed the giddiness surging up through her, though it was made easier by Suval's reciting his probability calculation. Doing some of her own, she found his conclusion valid. It was good enough for her, though of course the final decision was the Cap's.

Shifting slightly to avoid betraying her thoughts by touching Suval, she turned to Banrel and cleared her throat. "I should be off getting supplies and such," she emphasized the last word very lightly. "Would you mind accompanying me?"

[Mincaldenteans]

Vole's Nest

"Hmph, bold claim that you just so happen to be that 1 in 8762 to have the necessary skills I'm looking for. Ever heard that if it's too good to be true, it probably is?" Nathan smirked with a shake of his head and took a long swig of his beer thereafter. For one of measured responses, the Vulcan was doing his damndest to sound impressive, as far as logical terms could take him without spitting hyperbole and or wax eloquent. He was about to deny the Vulcan's request and tell him to kick rocks when he was interrupted by another that approached their table. Arelle had sprung into action, greeting the man and having him sit down, cutting Suval off from leaving, or at least, saving time for no doubt a cutting remark (as cutting as Vulcans could get anyway). Her eyeful wasn't lost on Nathan either, he was half doing the same, figuring his movement and what he was all about was a blank, however.

"Doctor," the captain greeted, turning his attention to the betazoid and tipped his beer bottle in greeting. "Apologies about that drink invite, once we're off this heap, maybe Arelle can whip up something in the kitchen to share that bottle of spice wine you mentioned."

Actually, he had no idea if their resident systems geek could actually cook, and something told him he'd have to do the cooking. 'Dancer would have a fit over that and would likely make sure to have enough power for the replicators before she'd let Nathan step food in the galley. Anyway, by the looks of it, it wasn't looking promising and he'd sooner extend Banrel's invitation into a dinner among them if the crew compliment remained at three. "Gunther," he called out, shaking his half empty bottle in the air. A middle finger sprouted in response as the old man moved off to fetch some more.

"Man's a bastard, but he makes good beer," Nathan commented lightly, not sure (and not caring) if anyone else was interested. He took a breath and leaned back. Studying two very tidy, neat, individuals that looked more like passengers needing to slip away quietly rather than be hired onto a merchant vessel. The captain reassessed Suval's testimony. Starfleet experience was becoming a dime a dozen in known space, but invaluable nonetheless. From ensigns to flag officers were changing coats to fight the Cardassians through the fringe colonies. It wasn't surprising the Maquis had survived this long, they had 'Fleeters in their ranks. Suval perhaps didn't have the 'preferred' skill set, but that didn't mean the Vulcan was valueless.

"A 'fleeter with questionable morality, eh? I didn't think anything could tarnish a Vulcan's well polished shoes. Interesting to see that in a-"

The old man had come by, dropping 5 bottles, the caps were twist offs. He didn't order that, he ordered one. That grimace on the old man's face (perhaps that was a smile) said everything.

"Added," Gunther replied almost cheerily, having read the captain's confusion of so many beer bottles on the table and moved off. Nathan could only sigh and shake his head. Whatever, he'd likely never pay off his tab at this rate.

"As I was saying, interesting to see that in a Vulcan, it's almost antithetical to your kind. But, supposed you've learned a thing or two out here, you made a valid point - not the calculation, I give two shits on that given the astro-political climate these days - about your experience because of your former employer. Now, science isn't all that called for out here so unless you can chart through a nebula with sensors that are least five years out of date...

"Hmm," Nathan hummed, twisting the cap of a new bottle and taking a swig of the dark ale, "And unless you've really ditched all ethical and logical meaning to be Vulcan, I'm hazarding you're not lying anyway about your 'Fleet background... I still don't like it, space is dangerous enough as it is so tell ya what: I'll keep you on contingent. You'll get a cut of the pay like any new hire provided you pull your weight around the ship, make yourself useful. If I don't like what you're doing, I'll tell you to kick rocks at the next station we port in. If I don't, well looks like you've proven yourself. Sound reasonable?"

The captain turned his gaze to William after, not stopping long enough for Suval to answer, though that meant he had time to consider Nathan's proposition. It was a tad unfair, to be sure, as Arelle and the doc didn't go through the same treatment. "What you got for me?"

[Esternial]

"An interested party." William replied. He paused for a moment and wondered if the captain was expecting an elevator pitch. Whether he did or not, Nathan got one anyway.

"Despite my appearance and proclivity for polite conversation I'm quite useful in a fight, though I'd much rather prefer talking my way out of a sticky situation. A man like that might be useful for an enterprising man like yourself."

Without a second thought he emptied his glass and placed it on the counter without flinching. Gunter was surprised but otherwise cared little and went about his business. He realised his sales pitch wasn't particularly good. Pretty much everyone on this station could probably hold his or her own in a brawl - perhaps it was one of the reasons the captain came here to recruit fresh meat. Being an android he was more resilient than the average human but that wasn't a detail he felt overly comfortable sharing at this point.

"I'm also a fairly decent chef." He added.

William could tell that last comment had an effect on the captain.

[Arvenia]

Vole's Nest
The Gorn had never experienced anything before. But so did Garek Embarok. Formerly a soldier in the Gorn military and a prisoner in the Klingon Empire, he was a renegade. He was the sole survivor of a crash caused by Klingons one year ago. The Klingons tortured him with slashing and whipping until he confessed. He did, however, escape custody in a Bird-of-Prey called "Bird Lizard". He is a racist one. He is racist towards Klingons for the torture and the crash.

He arrived at the Vole's Nest and arrived at the bar. He sat on a chair and called for the bartender. The bartender showed up. Garek looked at the meny and decided.

"Do you have a Gorn Meridor, please?" he asked the bartender. He looked in the bartender's eyes so wildly and focused. He then got his treat and drank it. He would order another one soon if he had time before he noticed an ad about a ship called Shadowdancer.

"Does anyone know about the Shadowdancer?" he asked. He looked at everyone if they had a clue, but no one had. He was left with no answer and waited while getting another Gorn Meridor with credits he stole from the Klingon guards one year ago and other renegades he captured in the "Bird Lizard".

[Swith Witherward]

The Doctor's gaze had gravitated towards the Gorn at the bar, but his attention snapped back to William once the man spoke the magic word. "A chef?" Banrel peered intently at him. Arelle's cooking wasn't so bad. It... oh face it, it was bland. He suppressed a shiver.

"A chef would be interesting," he raised a brow at Nathan before offering some old-fashion advice, Betazoid style. "Seriously. But I can't sense anything from him. He feels like a holodeck character. It isn't that he's blocking me. It's as though he isn't real. Might just be his species. But I have a good vibe. Call it experience. Call it my own curiosity. He seems like an interesting fit. Also: chef."

[Tiltjuice]

For her part, Arelle gazed around the bar once more. Twice. And then thrice for good measure. The only activity recently was a Gorn who had come in, followed by a pair of human men and a single human woman, but they'd split up and gone their separate ways. Everything seemed fine. Still...

Murmuring an excuse, and pulling an image of Earth's Seven Sisters waterfall into her mind just for Banrel, she rose from the table in search of the refresher. Spending countless hours hunched over a computer console or a PADD did nothing for one's skills on the stove. Even the one time the three of them had all gotten sufficiently soused to let her try reprogramming the replicator hadn't turned out very palatable, and 'Dancer still snarked at her over it.

As she passed by the bar, the Gorn had just finished growling an inquiry about 'Dancer to Gunther, who didn't react beyond a slight eyelid tic and sliding a reddish drink in the direction of the woman.

"Over there," she said over her shoulder as she strode past, gesturing to the now-crowded table. "Ask for the white-haired one or the scruffy one."

The stall, fortunately, was a bit more bearable than the last time she'd been in the room, though the lights hadn't been repaired. The fixture still clearly showed two scorches from a disruptor of some kind. She wasn't an expert by any means, but even she could tell the difference between disruptor and phaser damage without a tricorder. In any case, it was just rather more interesting to look at than the badly-spelled graffiti on the walls, with no inspiration to code at the moment.

There was a sudden bang from the next stall and she jumped, then checked her PADD's chrono. How long had she been in here? Hopefully the others hadn't gone off to look for her again. Finishing up quickly, she cleaned up and stepped back out into the bar area.