SPACE STATIONS > The Libra

It's Called the Grand Hustle, Sweetcheeks (Cheesy)

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Lion:
Another day another goddamn dollar. That was the saying wasn’t it?

Crowe could have been a banker, a scholar, an explorer, or some military brat like his siblings were, gone on to join those legendary Libran Knights or even just been a security guard or something relatively up and up. And Crowe would have done those things if he wanted to slave away on a 9-5 job, clock in and out, and work check to check. Admittedly, he did have to get his hands dirty from time to time, but he was good at what he did and if he stayed low enough, he could keep doing the do.

And there was nothing quite like ending the day with a good hard drink at his favorite dive. Librans were prudes by nature, or so the old mythos went, no drugs, no contraband, nothing shady or you’d get thrown into the slammer. Or something. Any time Crowe did was generally brief and something minor that didn’t make his rapsheet any reason to keep him behind bars for extended periods of time. Crowe took in a deep breath, and looked up at the neon lights of the bar he frequented.

The M.F., usually jokingly called “The Muthafucker” by the nearby residents, was dark and seedy, just as you'd expect in this part of Libra Station. The patrols usually were generally well-greased enough to leave people to their business. And only do necessary shakedowns when they wanted a hand out. Crowe knew who to grease and when, and how much, and if they tried to take more than they deserved, they soon figured out why that was a really really bad idea.

The smokey atmosphere glided sultrily over the neon lighting inside, and Crowe wrinkled his nose at the scent. Not so much that it smelled awful, but he wanted a smoke really bad and neglected to bum a pack when he had the chance. "Hey Mel," he muttered, taking a seat at the bar. "You wouldn't happen to have a smoke on you would you?"

He grumbled grumpily, feeling the itch and his fingers twitch at the lack of a smoke in them.

“Not today, Crowe. Sorry about that,” the bartender answered. “What’ll it be today, brother?”

The man was old, pale-skinned grizzled and his beard was braided here and there with small beads. But he was friendly and welcoming, and never treated Crowe with any sense of fear. Which, thankfully, was rather refreshing. “Rummmmm,” he mumbled and looked tiredly over at the other patrons in the bar.

There were the regulars here and there. Nothing to gawk at, no faces Crowe recognized that needed to be shaken down. Not until his eye caught onto a face that looked like it needed to be slapped. Just because.  “Hey Mel….who the hell is that?” he asked, pointing to a woman in the corner with a shaved head and some her hair parted into a ponytail.

“Ah, shit, Crowe. Don’t think I know. I don’t exactly ask everyone’s goddamn name now,” he snorted, putting the rum on the counter. “Why don’t you go over and ask?”

“Fuck no. Probably some psycho. With a haircut like that, they’re always fucking psycho.”

“…Y’know yours is almost exactly the same right? ‘Cept y’got no pony right?”

“I know I don’t have a fucking horse, Mel. I know.  Now just keep giving me drinks and find someone who has a fucking cigarette.”

Cheesigator:
Aaaaahhhhh Libra, boy she fuckin hated this place. Really, as the savvy space-faring gal that she was she'd been in lots of places--she liked Edanith more than she liked the Libra Station. And Edanith had what, rocks? Lots of rocks and dirt and sand. And EPIC COWBOY CHASE ADVENTURES AND ROBBERIES AND BANDITS AND STUFF AW YEAH.

What did the Libra have? A few jobs, a sad, sappy excuse of a military and law enforcement, strict no-fun-allowed rules and a population of vegetable eating waify rabbits. Fucking whoop dee doo. Still, a guy paid her enough to steal some shit, and she was good at stealin shit, so here she was, sitting at a table of rowdy folks in a weirdly named bar. The drinks were alright but she was more or less just here for like... Her pre-party so to speak. And if it was fun enough she might come back for a post-party. Maybe.

Probably not.

"Oi little lady I think you're cheating!" The other guys at the table were laughing as the one older, bulkier guy who probably could've been a barbarian in medieval times stood up from his chair and tossed the remainder of his losing deck of the cards onto the table.

Riley was cackling as she scooped up all of her winnings, and the other guys laughed because they hadn't been stupid enough to bet. "Ah ah, you owe me drinks on the house!" She crowed, her loud voice easily reaching every corner of the establishment.

"Wot?! You already took my scooter!"
"Dude, dude, bro, listen, I don't want your scooter mkay you can have yer fuckin keys back, here," She tossed the keys onto the table back to him, which he picked up with some confusion.

"I just want yer money and drinks okay, don't make this harder than it has to be. Simple, keep it simple." She gave him finger guns and he rolled his eyes, motioning over to the bartender to catch his attention.

"Mel, drinks on me for this lil' lady. What do you want?" He turned to look at her as she kicked her chair back onto its back legs and put her heeled thigh-high boots up onto the table as she glanced over at the bartender, her gaze briefly landing on the dark-skinned man standing on the other side of the counter, lingering a moment as they made eye contact before she looked away up at her new shiny drinking sponsor.

"Whiskey, on the rocks."
"You heard her, Mel." He grumbled.

She cackled again as she put her hands back behind her head and they continued their idle conversation they'd been having during the card game, glancing over when Mel brought her drink and she saw that guy again over her shoulder.

"Say fellas, who's that chumpy brickhead over there?" She asked, pointing at him when he wasn't looking.

"Oh, Crowe." Their snickering died down a bit, and they shrugged. "Regular here, just don't mess with him, girly. It'll save ya trouble in the long run."

She gave the guy who answered a deadpan stare. "Oh, please? That twig? He ain't got nothin on me."

"Good girl, keep it that way."
"Bite me."
"I'll pass, lil lady."

Lion:
Believe me, he wasn't listening on purpose. But the simple fact he was able to overhear the goings on at the bar, meant that he couldn't help but pay attention. And the more and more this girl opened her mouth, the more stupid came spilling out of it. What the fuck was wrong with this girl? She won a fucking vehicle and all she wanted were drinks and what few credits this guy had in the end? 

She could hock a good grand from a bike at a chop shop for parts alone, but no. She just wanted drinks.  Huh, well, ok then. Simple, she said. Keep it that way and there was no harm nor foul in any of that. A deal was a deal after all.

Still, she was stupid, but that didn't mean she couldn't be happy with the deal she made.

Crowe cut his eyes over to Rile again, while she spoke to Mel and met her stair. His stomach did a weird lurch that made him want to puke into his drink but he wasn't about to waste a perfectly good drink on account of some chick as so ugly she made him upchuck.  Crowe grumbled into his drink and just kept staring at her, watching her with an intensity that well - yeah she was dumb - but she was interesting to him for some strange reason.

He couldn't place it but something told him he'd seen her face before.  Probably in a strip club. She looked like a stripper. Yeah...maybe he'd shoved a few useless wads of Edani money into her thong somewhere between benders.

He took down the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the counter, tilting his head and finding himself scowling at her.  God she was dumb.  Whatever it was that compelled him, his arm suddenly launched forward and he threw the glass at her fat stupid head.  For no reason, other than her sitting there and being dumb.

Cheesigator:
For the most part, Riley decided to follow the other guys' suggestions for now and happily returned to their prior topics of conversation. Whoever that guy was, it bothered her that he looked so familiar and she had no idea why. It probably didn't matter, unless if he was some guy she'd fucked over on a job or something. That was his problem for being an idiot then, not hers. And if he had a little problem, then it was on him to do something about it.

She was laughing at a joke made at someone else's expense as Mel came over with a glass to hand to her; she took it gracefully and nodded her thanks, cackling again before taking a sip.

But if there was one thing Riley had learned in her years of scamming and stealing, it was to always trust your gut, your barebones instincts. And this time she did; she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the guy's arm start to flex, moving to grab the cup he'd just slammed down and his eyes were on her and said he was aiming for her head.
As he chucked it she bowled out of her seat, dodging it and rolling onto all fours for a moment before she swiftly stood up, the glass crashing on the wall. And there was no mistaking the fury in her eyes at having been challenged.

"OI! THE FUCK'S YOUR PROBLEM, YOU UGLY PIECE OF SHIT? HAVING FLASHBACKS TO WHEN YOUR DAD TOOK A LAWNMOWER TO YOUR FACE OR WHAT?!"

Her shoulders were squared and set back as she started to stalk towards him, the other patrons in the bar gawking as she glared him down with all the walk and authority of a leopard.

"If you got a problem why don't ya fuckin say it like a REAL man, Dumpy?" She snarled, stopping right in front of him so their chests were brushing, her feet widespread in a power stance that said she meant business and she'd have no problem teaching this shithead not to throw things at a mothafuckin lady.

Lion:
Ok so he wasn't actually trying to hit her. Crowe had no intention of actually knocking it against that thick rock-like skull of hers. No doubt forged from years of also being bashed in the head time and again. Gods knew his own head was like that after being in this business. You didn't get your fair share of bruises and not have a thick skull.

That said, she managed to dodge it and Crowe remained there, scowling still and remaining unmoved until she waltzed over like a drunk cat high on catnip and managed to get right up in his face.  Her mouth was moving but stupid kept falling out and it was all starting to sound like right noise.

And she smelled like she hadn't managed to bathe in about a week.

Eugh.

"Actually, I was just wondering if you got a cigarette," he mumbled with a twitching grin. He smirked a little and was overwhelmed with the need to headbutt her. Her chest was touching his and he soon grasped her arms and held her firm while he slapped his lips firmly against hers, kissing her fiercely and biting down on her bottom lip. The kiss was short and sweet and he took his seat again.

"So about that cigarette?"

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