> SEVEN DEADLY SINS TAVERN
PLANET: RESTIZ - FEDERATION SPACE . . .
"It says, 'Just got a contract. Headed to Bespl. Don't wait up.' What contract is she on this time?" Lars sighed and motioned for the bartender to pour him another glass of whiskey. "She has a habit of doing this, Flannery. Ever since we went into merc work."
"Well you know how it is, kid," Flannery replied smiling. "She's Navy. Former Navy, but it's hard to take the wanderer out of the spacers."
"You'd know, Flannery. Right?"
"I'm not taking her side just because I'm ex-Navy, you know. Still--weren't you a Marine? You've probably seen just as many worlds as she did. What did you do during your time in anyway?"
Lars shot him a look and rolled his eyes. "Ah, you know--saw the sights, banged a few alien chicks. Come on, Flan--shit's classified. You know that."
The bartender only put both his hands up in response. That left the third member Lars' group, Rana. They'd dropped her off at the Heaven's Pillar for some R&R--on her own dime, of course. They wouldn't be approving any more group funds for her . . . "staycations" she called them. How they were staycations when she didn't stay on the ship was a mystery, but Lars didn't question it. "Women," he muttered, shaking his head. "Well Flan, it was nice shooting the shit but I'm gonna go ahead and get jets up."
"Oh", he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Where to now?"
Lars raised his shoulders slightly. "No idea. Gonna find something to do. Some planet always needs a small-time bounty to claim or some mop-up operation to take care of." A few paper credits were put underneath the shot glass Lars had been drinking from. He'd always preferred the "look and feel" of paper currency, though he always had plenty of credits in his databank. He said it made him feel like he was on Terra during the "earthbound era"--before space travel had been fully realised. Though he was never alive during this time, he couldn't help feeling a certain nostalgic longing for it. One of the things that made him weirdly endearing, he eventually decided.
"You know, Flannery, that offer still stands. If you ever get tired of this shit--"
"I know. I know. Trust me, I'm still declining." He laughed heartily then continued. "Ain't no way you could get me into space again, especially not with a blaster in my hands. But hey--if you ever get tired of pulling triggers . . . you know I could use a strongarm around here for when things get a bit rowdy."
Lars smiled as he waved behind him and exited the tavern. "Fat chance, you old fart," he said over his shoulder, before stepping out into the cold, Restizian night and heading toward the spaceport.