A Touch of Class

[Atton Kira]

Atton stretched, shifting the way his kit bag hung over his shoulder. The transport had been cramped, uncomfortable, and utterly boring; and as a result his spine was riddled with bunched and knotted muscles that would no doubt plague him incessantly, until he managed to find a decent masseuse in this infernal place.

The intermittant crowd of fellow passengers shuffled him along, nudging him down the bright white corridors at a lazy pace. He thought about pushing forward, fighting his the way through to carve his own speed at the front of the herd; but as he descended a stairway and rounded a corner, a panoramic viewport explained the leisurely movement of the crowd. Through the - heavily reinforced, hopefully - panes of transparisteel, the entirity of the giant gas-world of Bespin stretched out beneath them, an entire city suspended above it, in the clouds.

His back issued a brief twinge of protest, but he ignored it, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. Worth it.

* * *

Glancing at the datapad once again, Atton frowned a little. This was the correct address, but it hadn't been quite what he was expecting. When he'd been told about an exciting new job prospect on Cloud City, he'd assumed that the casino he was being sent to was going to be one of the glamourous, rich, and opulent establishments, like the Cumulus casino he'd already passed: the kind of place where the high rollers and heavy hitters of society hung out. He'd inferred that when Black Sun had offered him a fairly respectable wage to gather what dirt he could on the steadily increasing Imperial population of Bespin, he'd be targetting the senior officers, and the political leaders.

Holiday Towers was nothing of the sort; but as he stood pondering in the street before it, it emerged that his new employers were a few steps of logic ahead of him. He watched as a steady stream of pilots and soldiers flowed in and out of the casino's doors. He chuckled silently to himself. Black Sun wanted dirt on the Imperials on Cloud City. What better place to start than with the drunken and loudmouth grunts and rocket jocks who'd be bitching about it full-volume at all hours of the day and night?

Working his way inside - a few strategically placed cred chits preventing any kind of complications or entanglements with the bouncers - his eyes swept the room for anyone of potential importance. He spotted the waitresses, moving from table to table; spotted the guards there to discourage any trouble; and spotted the latter, disguised as the former, ready to react if mere deterrant wasn't enough.

He set his sights on one in particular: a slinky-dressed redhead, whose feline features and pointed ears - well, and her genetics, he supposed - made her Cathar. Behind the dark glasses that veiled his eyes, he scrutinised her intently. The hair was different from the holo he'd seen, but the height, frame, and facial features inescapably conformed to the woman he was looking for.

Adjusting his features to mimick those of a hapless and lost tourist, he stepped over, forcing an awkward string of movements into her field of view. "A'scuse me, miss," he offered, a nervous edge planted in his voice, his accent lazily cutting off syllables and stretching vowels here and there. "Can you 'elp me? I'm lookin' fer a young woman, name a' Arriana Rezner."

[Arriana Rezner]

Her eyes moved from table to table, booth to booth. In one, a gang of Imperial dockers were making bets on who would be the first to get a handful of the Twi'lek waitress who had just left their table. As the blue-skinned beauty moved on, she made a stop beside two grey-haired men who were arguing over something in hushed tones, one insistent that the other should take the hastily wrapped parcel he was trying to shove into his hands. Rolling her hips as she slipped between a group of off-duty Imperial pilots who hadn't bothered to shed their flightsuits, the Twi'lek finally made it back to the bar itself, where she picked up a fresh tray of shots and began another tour of the bar floor. For an instant, her eyes met with Arriana's and they shared a smile.

"E'scuse me, miss," said a voice, pulling Arriana's attention towards it. She turned, with one hand on her hip, and was presented with the sight of a human male – and a somewhat mediocre looking one at that, the shy and retiring kind of man that went unobtrusively through life, but most likely spent his weekends snorting spice from the behind of a Zeltron hooker.

"Can y' help me? 'm lookin' f'r a young woman, name o' Arriaana Rezner."

Already, discreetly placed guards were moving across the floor towards them. Atton Kira was taller than her, but Arriana still managed to look down her nose at him.

“Do you have an appointment?”

[Atton Kira]

Mindgames were a pasttime that Atton engaged in with gusto.

It had been too many years now for him to bother measuring it in anything smaller than decades, but once upon a time he'd worked for the military, interrogating suspects and prisoners to uncover their truth and lies. He'd learned much then, and much more since with his constant observations of people. One of the things he had uncovered was that you could learn more about an individual by gauging their reactions and interactions to others than you could through direct scrutiny. Despite the allusions of mystics to the contrary, Atton knew that it was psychology and sociology - not religion - that was the true window of the soul.

Further more, screwing with people and seeing how much he could get away with was ridiculously fun at times, and now was no exception.

"Appointment? Oh. I -"

He looked - faking nerves - down at his hands, fumbling the datapad that they held; seeming to deliberate over whether to hand it to her or not. He glanced at her and flashed a nervous smile, liberating one of his hands, he extended it towards her. "Where a' my manners? My name is -"

His smile, and bumbling aura, shattered the instant Arriana didn't react to reciprocate his handshake. There were numerous types of people in the galaxy, and of course many of them shunned away from such physical contact: but given the remainder of her body language - not to mention the armed guards paying extreme attention to them - he decided that the game was probably up.

He straightened with a sigh, and gained an inch or so, the assumed nerves falling away as his posture shifted. His face retreated into a mostly neutral, unreadable mask, though a slight quirk of a smile did manage to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Well, that was a fun diversion, while it lasted."

"My name is Atton Kira," he revealed, voice calm and calculated, and laced with an undertone of quiet confidence this time. "As fer my appointment: I don't believe I require one."

[Arriana Rezner]

“It vas?”

Her tone dry, Arriana let her gaze slide to the left where – some twenty feet away – a lean, green-skinned Twi'lek male was watching her like a hawk, his muscles tense. His lekku twitched and Arriana shook her head, her shoulders sinking with a soft sigh as she regrettably returned her attention to her guest.

“Vell.. no time like the prrresent. Shall ve?”

She gestured to a nearby booth, which was conveniently unoccupied and flanked at its entrance by two pillars of meat that were masquerading as men. Arriana slid neatly into her seat and looked across the table at Atton, his larger frame and the bulky bag he carried making his entrance a little less graceful. The lighting was low and the air smoky, as if the booth had been specifically designed to host discreet businesss meetings.

“...Vell, Mr. Kirrrra? Vhat can I do for you?”

[Atton Kira]

Straight to the point. Atton respected that; it spoke to a true manager, rather than the self-inflated bureaucrats that he was used to dealing with. It was a blessed relief, and once again he was glad of yet another benefit this admittedly seedier establishment had to offer.

"We 'ave a common -" He searched for the appropriate term. "- benefactor."

He cursed himself in hindsight for not having dug a little deeper into the recent affairs and dealings of Miss Rezner. The two had encountered each other before, but purely via reputation and covert communication - Arriana's dealings with the illegal smuggling trade in particular had occasionally been in need of his services, when the normal approach of blackmailing junior Imperials into providing the necessary shipping documents fell through. When he had recognised the name, he had dismissed it as someone he 'knew' - but he rapidly began to realise that he had no understanding of how the upheval in the criminal cartels had affected her; no way to estimate her reaction before the fact.

He pushed past it, glancing down at the datapad he'd been carring. A few jabs of his finger configured the device to display the relevant document; with the tips of those same fingers, he slid it towards her, the duraplast casing groaning a little with friction against the tabletop. "They believe that, given the 'new interest' that the Imperials are expressin' at the moment, my 'unique talents' may be of some help t' ya."

[Arriana Rezner]

She trailed one claw along the datapad's scroll-bar, the information it contained filling in blanks within her mind. Atton Kira was not an unknown variable, but he had always been little more than a name, a source – as distant and faceless as the HoloNet itself. Whatever he had been, however, it seemed that now he would be taking on a new assignment. In light of the Black Sun's reformation, capital and personnel were once again being channelled into Holiday Towers. With another tap to deactivate the data-pad's screen, Arriana lifted her eyes to Atton and smiled.

“Vhat you see here, Kirrra... is all because of the Empire. Vithout their space station, their soldierrrs, ve vould have no custom – but... it is a.. delicate game to play, to operate beneath their noses.”

[Atton Kira]

Atton nodded in careful agreement. "O'course it is," he offered, a hint of Arriana's smile reflected in his own expression. "Unfortunately, the increase in Imperial activity 'as put you in a rather awkward position, an' closed many a' the opportunities that you previously 'ad t' conduct your business, am I right?"

Of course he was right; the question was rehorical, and so he barely paused to permit Arriana the opportunity to respond. "My talent lies in the understandin' a' people: the comprehension a' what drives 'em, motivates 'em, an' manipulates 'em." A hand scrubbed momentarily at the short cropped hair on his head, and he plucked the glasses from his face, leaving them to rest beside him on the table. His gaze lingered them for an instant, brow twitching into a momentary frown as he gathered his thoughts, before his eyes flicked back to Miss Reznar.

"The Empire knows that this city was 'ome to a contingent a' Jedi for a while, an' they're gonna be on a witch 'unt to find the 'unts responsible." He shrugged. "All a' those officers that you 'ad already twisted an' tweaked into workin' to support your little schemes, or t' look the other way when it were neccessary, are gonna be the ones that they give the ol' boot an' pack off somewhere else." He jerked a thumb towards himself for emphasis, and broadened a smile. "You're gonna need my 'elp to get these new sons a' Sith on side t' still be meetin' your expected profit margins, else our bosses ain't gonna be happy with ya."

[Arriana Rezner]

Kira was right, of course, but it was his business to be right. It was the reason the Black Sun had made use of him in the first place, because he had a preternatural talent for being right. Resting one elbow against the tables top, Arriana sat her chin in her upturned palm and hmmm'd, though the sound of it was more like a rumbling purr.

“One door closes, another opens... Do you truly believe that these Imperials vill be any different from those who came before them? Perhaps at first, to appease their commanders. But in time?”

Her smile returned, genuine and broad, as she gently shook her head.

“They are all cut from the same, cheap cloth.”

[Atton Kira]

Eyebrows climbing slightly in reaction to Arriana's assessment, Atton reclined in the booth's bench-like seat, his arms folded across across his chest. "The same cheap cloth, huh?"

He gestured, and though the booth obscured their direct view, both Atton and Arriana could surmise that he was indicating the cluster of Imperial pilots that were currently gracing - loudly - the casino with their presence. "Not a single one a' those pilots is wearin' marks fer a squadron that flies anythin' cheaper than a TIE Interceptor. You've got more Star Destroyers in orbit than most sectors can boast, an' this Travis North that they've put in charge sounds like one hell of a hardass."

He shrugged, the gesture making his comments seem offhand, despite their content. "I also hear a rumour that a gorgeous young lady by the name a' Sanya Tagge is takin' over as Baroness Administrator; an' she's the sister-in-law of the frakkin' Empress."

His eyes sparkled a little with mirth, and sarcasm. "Wherever this cheap cloth a' yours is comin' from, Miss Rezner, the Empire is gettin' a bloody good deal fer its credits."

[Arriana Rezner]

Arriana looked across the bar. There were more of them now. They spent more, drank more and splattered a great deal more vomit against her hotel's walls and carpets – apparently, most of them on a binge that was intended to make up for years of sobriety – but in the end, they did see more. Even if their vision wasn't always clear, it was simply a matter of numbers, attrition even. One gizka was manageable, but there was no such thing was one gizka. They, like the Empire, were a self-perpetuating pest that resisted eradication. The best you could hope for with gizka was to catch a few to turn into a steak-meat, and by the same token hope to find a few Imperials who were willing to make themselves.. useful.

“Vhat do you suggest, then? How do ve.. adapt?”

[Atton Kira]

Atton's mouth split into a broad grin. "I thought you'd never ask."

Reaching for his kit bag, he flung the zip all the way open, the canvas fabric bulging into a gaping maw as clothes and belongings that had barely managed to fit inside tried to force their way out. A few items were rummaged aside, and Atton produced what he was looking for.

The battered hat spun ellegantly in Atton's fingers as he produced it into view, thrown, tossed, and twirled in practiced motions that were so fluid they bordered on hypnotic. "There's no bond stronger than between a soldier an' the man who pours his beer," he explained, eyes not even remotely looking towards the hat as he continued to show off. "Most a' the time they won't notice he's there; but he'll be with 'em at their highest, an' there for 'em at their lowest. They'll confide in 'im; complain to 'im; an' through that we'll find the weak links an' feeble minds, that we can exploit to our own ends."

With a flick of his wrist, the hat rolled flawlessly up his arm and perched atop his head at a disarmingly jaunty angle; he spread his arms wide, placing himself on display. "I present to you," he said, with a flash of a wink, "The lovable barman, with a very fine hat."

[Arriana Rezner]

A smile hidden behind her curled fingertips, Arriana shook her head. The hat was absurd, but playing the fool was not without its merits. The many, 'exotic' alien waitresses in The Ison Lounge overheard things that they almost certainly wouldn't have been privy to if the bar's Imperial customers had not immediately written them off as a) unable to speak Basic and b) too stupid to grasp what was being said, even if they did understand snippets of conversation.

“You do know that hat is rrridiculous, don't you?”

[Atton Kira]

Atton's eyes widened, eyebrows tugged downwards with apparent sadness, and it was impossible to determine whether the wounded expression that formed on his face was genuine, or part of some ellaborate ruse. A few moments of silence followed; eventually his eyes narrowed, and though he tried to emulate a bitter expression, he couldn't help the vaguest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I take it you don't want me to fix you a drink, then."

[Arriana Rezner]

Lifting her head out of her hand, Arriana flicked her nails at Kira as if she were shooing away a fly.

“Go – make me something that vould have one of our uniformed frrriends spilling his secrets in no time at all.”

It was all well and good Kira donning his ceremonial bartender's hat, but if he couldn't mix a good drink, he would be deniably bad for business. Hopefully for Atton, the information he had trafficked so frequently in the past had included a couple of quick and dirty cocktail recipes.

[Atton Kira]

Atton's eyebrows twitched upwards in victory, and a grin flashed on his face once more as he almost leapt with enthusiasm out of his seat, throwing himself into the bar with gusto, as if the increased speed would somehow make it easier to escape from the cramped booth. (It did.)

His hands clapped together with an audible crack as he wove he way through the tables, palms rubbed together eagerly, the friction generating heat. He hesitated as he reached the table that housed the TIE pilots, and slapped his hands in greeting onto either shoulder of the least burley and threatening of them. "Finish those up, boys," he said with a flash of a grin, eyes gesturing towards their half-drained glasses. "Next round's on me."

Saying no more he disappeared, pace increasing to swift confident strides as he reached the bar. The last few steps were faster still, and then he lept, a hand providing extra lift as he swung his legs up, and he slid - with surprising gymnastic prowess - across the bar, dropping calmly onto his feet on the floor beyond.

His hands slapped a quick triple beat on alternating thighs, before his hands rose to drum fingers through the air, counting off the various bottles racked up before him for the few that he required - Sullustan gin, spicebrew, and Old Janx Spirit. Each one was tossed from hand to hand a few times, testing the weight before he casually threw them onto the bar, each one somehow sliding into near perfect alignment beside each other.

Turning back to the bar, and his audience - the pilots had apparently been watching him, attempting to determine who exactly the weird guy in the hat happened to be - more ellegant and precise moments followed as he planet the cocktail mixer on the bar; his hands tossed bottles upwards, grabbing and inverting them in mid-air, pouring the contents into the mixer before returning them to the bar. Ingredients - and ice - all in place, seven glasses for the seven pilots were produced from beneath the bar and lined up in an arc, an eighth - for Arriana - placed at . Then the lid was added to the mixer, clamped firmly in place; and then the whole ensemble was tossed high into the air.

Tumbling end over end, the mixer rose and descended, spectators watching with bated breath for the inevitable accident. Disappointment came however, mixed with ellation as in one graceful movement Atton swept off his hat and scooped the mixer from the air, a hand resting on it's base to hold it balanced in place. That hand threw it up again - only a few feet this time, straight up and with no tumbling - providing the time necessary to casually place his hat back atop his head, and catch the mixer once more.

Unscrewing the cap, he swept his arm in an arc to mimick the glasses, filling them with a blue liquid that seemed to radiate an inner glow from its depths. The last eighth was poured into Arriana's glass, his seemingly estimated proportions perfect to the last drop.

With a hand, he beckoned over one of the waitresses - a Rutian Twi'lek, whose aquamarine skin complimented the hue of the drinks perfectly. "Sonic Servodrivers fer our pilot heroes," he announced loudly, voice carrying over to the table where the TIE pilots waited; "And one for our lovely hostess as well."

Without a word, the Twi'lek loaded her tray, and wandered off to deliver them; Atton paid her no further attention, instead retrieving a towel from out of sight to dry the condensation from the bottles that had transferred to his palms, and cast his eyes across to the booth that he'd departed moments before. Catching Arriana looking in his direction, he flashed her a grin, a theatrical wink, and offered a casual tip of his hat in her direction.

[Arriana Rezner]

“Shameless,” Arriana muttered, as the Twi'lek daintly deposited Atton's concotion on the table before her. As she took a tentative sniff and sip of the cocktail, she saw over the edge of her glass that the Imperial pilots were already on their way to guzzling half of the glass down. The taste was too sweet for them to realise that it was absolutely loaded with alcohol and liable to have them stuttering and slurring fast, if they weren't careful.

With her glass in hand, Arriana paced to the bar where Atton had begun perfecting his 'cleaning a perfectly clean glass with a rag' act. She perched on the edge of a barstool and watched him for a moment, as he flashed a cheeky grin and wink at a couple of departing customers. “A brrroker and a bartender. Ve are getting value for our money, aren't ve. Vhat else can you and that hat of yours do?”

[Atton Kira]

Atton grinned, glancing away from Arriana for a moment to hold the glass up to the light and make sure the imaginary smear had been wiped away. It had, and so he set it down out of sight beneath the counter top, tossing the rag lazily over his shoulder, and leaning casually with one arm against the bar.

A hand reached for his head, briefly kneeding one of the tense patches that his journey to Cloud City had forged in his neck, before tilting the hat back a few degrees further, the brim disappearing from being a distraction in the upper periferal of his vision.

"So -" He adjusted his expression into something a little more suave and devonaire which, given his outfit and accent, looked ridiculously out of place. "- do I get the job?"

[Arriana Rezner]

“If you make it through a trrrial period...”

The Black Sun didn't hire blind and although Atton had done a surprisingly good job of strengthening Arriana's confidence in his ability to do more than trade in secrets, she didn't want to throw all of her chips in it once. She matched his debonair look with a sultry smile of her own, one that softened her otherwise sharp and angular features.

“Perrrhaps.”

[Atton Kira]

"Per'aps, eh?" Atton echoed, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Internally, he smiled, glad that his luck was changing. The galaxy had been an odd and unsettling place for him of late, and things were doing a considerably spectacular job of not going his way.

It had started, mostly, when some inconsiderate bastard had knabbed and naffed off with his ship from Nar Shaddaa - though he'd discovered some time later that the man responsible had been Hugo Montegue, a bounty hunter who he had several years previously helped the Empire to grab and imprison; so in hindight, they were even, he supposed.

He'd made it off the Smuggler's Moon by buying in with a Captain named Henning, and had trekked around on his battered old ship for a month or two, before a run in with the Rebel Alliance saw him thrown in a cell by some grumpy looking woman whose recently executed ex-partner he'd happened to accidentally-on-purpose bring up in conversation. Admittedly, he'd made the situation worse through his actions, and there had been some talk of leaving him there to rot and vapourising the key; but eventually, they'd decided that the best option was to dump him on a planet in the middle of nowhere and leave him to his own devices: all because they were paranoid that there might be an infinitesimally slight risk that he'd discover all of the Rebellion's secrets, and try to profit by selling them to the highest bidder.

As if he'd do something as morally reprehensible and underhanded as that.

At any rate, the fact that his queries into more stable employment with Black Sun had actually born fruit was a blessing, and Atton certainly wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth: especially not when said gift horse had Arriana's 'alternate attributes' on which he could focus.

He realised that he'd disappeared into the depths of his mind for a little too long, and so flashed Arriana an appologetic smile. Glancing around himself, he saw the pilots begin to stir at their table, katarn calls cast towards the waitress to summon her ready for their next drinks order.

Frowning momentarily, he held up a hand to indicate that Arriana should stay right where she was, hand rising to his hat, and plucking it from his head. "Hold on to this, will you?" he requested, dropping it unceremoniously atop the Cathar's frantic, fiery locks, and then retreated towards the bar's array of drinks as swiftly as he could, before she had time to contemplate a swift retaliation.

[Arriana Rezner]

Arriana hissed as the hat – at least a size too big for her head – slipped down over her ears and eyes. Vexed, she knocked the brim upwards with her thumb. It rocked backwards, wild tufts of hair sticking out from beneath it at every unflattering angle possible. A lyrical string of Catharese fell from her lips as she swiped a stray lock from her eyes, just in time to spear Atton with an accusing glare.

[Atton Kira]

Atton spotted the stabbing glare that Arriana cast in his direction, and responded with a playful grin.

His attention quickly turned back to the Twi'leki waitress, who was hoverring ready to deliver the next round of drinks. The pilots had requested something cool, if her conveyance of their order was correct, and so Atton had taken them at their word, preparing an octet of volatile Ice Blasters. Due to the nature of the drink, his mixing efforts had been far less flamboyant this time, but with good reason, as he demonstrated on the spare, eighth beverage.

"Place it on the table carefully," he instructed, careful to make his tone purely informative and not at all condescending; "And then flick the rim of each glass." He did so, and suddenly from nowhere a cloud of white appeared and spread throughout the glass, as supercooled water froze before their very eyes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpiUZI_3o8s). The Twi'lek's eyes widened in silent wonder, and Atton's grin manifested all over again. "Thanks, darlin'," he offered warmly, with a gentle moment of contact of his hand against her forearm arm, and between their respective eyes.

Satisfied that he had provided the waitress with a moment's reprieve from the hardships and torments of serving such a loathsome group of patrons, he wandered back down the length of the bar towards Arriana, drink in hand. "Pretty cool, eh?" he commented, tipping the glass towards her in a quick gesture of something vaguely resembling respect.

True respect of course being impossible at that precise moment, given the exceedingly ridiculous appearence of Arriana in his hat.

[Arriana Rezner]

Arriana said something else in her native tongue, and it evidently wasn't a compliment. Snatching the hat from her head, Arriana tossed it at Atton's chest as she slipped from her barstool. “Show the others how to make them,” she said, with an agitated gesture to the rest of the bar staff, who had watched the whole interchange with glassy-eyed interest. She moved to walk away, but caught herself at the last moment. “ - and make sure you don't poison anyone.”

[Atton Kira]

Several hours later...

"- and that," he finished, adding the final touches, "Is how you make a Slutty Half-Zeltron."

Atton had no idea what time it was. Well, perhaps no idea was an exaggeration. He knew what time he had arrived, based both on his personal chrono and according to the computer displays on the public transport he'd taken to reach Holiday Towers; knowing the time now according to his chrono would give him a measure of the time ellapsed, which he could then convert in accordance with with the rotational period of Bespin - which he knew - to at least work out whether it had passed midnight by Cloud City reckoning. Of course, matters would no doubt be complicated by the fact that Cloud City was airborne, potentially beset by weather patterns, and thus the length of a day could vary as its relative position. So not no idea. Just not enough of an idea for it to be worth caring about.

What was relevant was that, based on their own personal work cycles, the Imperial patrons had decided to call it a night. The seven pilots had been reduced to three by the end of the night, two having peeled off from the main group to 'bullseye' some 'womp rats', to use a very tired euphamism for having sexual intercourse with a pair of hookers; one of the others meanwhile had passed out, and so the final pilot had volunteered to - once roused - walk him back to the barracks, only to collapse about three paces outside the door.

Arriana hadn't appeared particularly happy about having to contact security to escort the two pilots home, and if the glares she'd been casting in his direction for the last hour or so were anything to go on, she seemed to blame him for somehow being responsible for their alcohol over-indulgeance.

Either that, or she was still bitter about the hat; she had spent a lot of time nervously adjusting her hair in front of reflective surfaces when she thought nobody was looking.

In any case, the bar had for the most part emptied, and with the stools and tables cleaned and stowed appropriately as per the usual proceedure, the bar staff had gathered around Atton for lessons on how to mix various extra cocktails from off their standard menu, which Atton had learned of and collected on his travels of the galaxy.

Seeing Arriana stalking in his direction however, he was forced to offer the group an appologetic smile. "That's all fer t'night, I'm afraid," he informed them, sliding the drink down the bar to the Twi'lek from earlier, who he'd decided was his favourite. "Assumin' I'm not stuffed an' mounted as a trophy on a wall by tomorrow night, I'll see you all then."

The crowd dispursed, and as Arriana closed to within effective blaster range, he flashed her his best, disarming smille. "So then, guv," he said, sweetly. "How was that fer a first shift?"

[Arriana Rezner]

Arriana traced a clawed fingertip along the bar-top. The counter was spotless, and its many oddly shaped glasses and bottles had been stored away on their shelves like the well-ordered tools of a mad scientist. Initial reports indicated that The Ison Lounge had made a good profit for the evening and that the expansion of the drinks menu to include a colourful new array of cocktails had been a successful. Novelty always ways.

Once again eyeing Atton with a haughty look that sat far too easily on her features, Arriana smiled a thin smile.

“You play the rrrringmaster well, Kira. Vas therrre anyone who didn't fall for your charrrms?”

[Atton Kira]

The bar cloth had managed to magic itself back into Atton's hand; he fiddled with it idly, the occasional half-hearted effort made to dust the few remaining streaks of moisture from the bar's surface.

"Only one," he admitted, not looking at Arriana directly; his menial task was a means towards focus, but even with it as a crutch he couldn't manage to stop a hint of the sly smile he'd been trying to keep under wraps from forming on his face.

He glanced up at her, mischief on his eyes. "I'm still not convinced tha' she's a completely lost cause, though."

[Arriana Rezner]

“I hope that look in your eyes is all part of the act, Kirrra.”

Arriana turned away and with hands on her hips surveyed the deserted Ison Lounge. It had seen its fair share of locals and Imperials alike, and she was curious to know if their had been any loose tongues wagging.

“Did you learrrn anything of interest this evening?”

[Atton Kira]

Not discouraged in the slightest, Atton shrugged, and tossed the bar rag over his shoulder.

"Its a multi stage plan," he offered, arms casually folding, tone not seeming in the least bit bothered about his relatively minimal success. "I gotta earn the trust a' these gals an' geezers, before they'll open up proper like," he explained, cocking his head to one side. Worse, he'd spent the evening mostly behind the bar, and while the waitress staff had been dutiful in feeding back if they heard anything important, their powers of espionage and observation were admittedly somewhat lacking.

His eyes narrowed, musing. "Did 'ere somethin' that might be worth a thought or two, though." He scanned his memory for the relevant name, wondering if there was anything retained in his subconscious relevant to the individual in question. "Mention a'ra man name a' 'urst Falco. Sounds like 'e is a bit of an 'ardass, an' is job is t' make trouble fer people like us. Might be worth a with bit a' ganderin'; see what we can dig up."