RPlog:Work Makes for Strange Company

Paul_Nighman: He is sitting at the table located closest to the entranceway to the main lobby. He looks like he has been there for a long time. His hair is ruffled as if he'd been running his hands through it. There are dishes of food here and there. The table is almost completely covered with papers, actual leather bound books, a computer link terminal, and a medium sized statue of an abstracted figure. There is one book in particular that would catch the eye - a very large (18" x 12") very ancient looking hand illustrated manual. It is this that Paul is focused on, his hands tracing the pages as he seems to be mumbling, carefully making out the indecipherable text before him. The illuminations are beautiful and richly preserved.

Vermillion enters the Dining Room.

Vermillion: A tall, broad shouldered human male with wolfish blue eyes and long crimson hair pulled back into a ponytail, which falls to mid-back. His features are rugged and handsome, with arching eyebrows and high cheekbones. He is well tanned and a two day growth of light red stubble graces his firm jaw. He is wearing a white turtleneck and heavy silver boots which sound noisily as he walks. Around his waist is a silver partitioned belt with an octagonal buckle. He wears a long black jacket with deep pockets which nearly touches the ground. Over his shirt is a shiny silver chestplate showing only a few scratches and one noticeable scorch mark. A spurious lock of red hair partially covers one eye. His look is aloof and smug as he smokes a cigarra that seems to be an ever present extension of his warm hands.

Paul_Nighman looks up briefly as Vermillion enters, his eyes distracted, then turns back to the book before him, before he toggles with the keys of his terminal. "No, no, not that manuscript ... the other one," he murmurs to himself.

Vermillion ambles in, pushing out a cloud of blue tinged smoke in the direction of the maitre'd. Said Maitre'd nods silently to him and leads him over to a table, just across from the one the man with the books is sitting at. Vermillion slides into a booth as if he owns it, propping up a chrome booted foot on the seat across from him and resting his arms across its back.

Paul_Nighman occasionally looks up as people pass by the entranceway, and occasionally glances at Vermillion. A waiter approaches Paul and stares at him as if he has outstayed his welcome. "Would you like the check sir?" Paul sighs, removes his glasses, and rubs his eyes. "No, not quite yet ..." he looks around the table. "I'd just like some coffee please." The waiter nods politely and leaves to fetch it. Paul rubs his eyes good and hard and shakes his head a little before putting his glasses back on. His attention returns to the terminal keyboard.

Vermillion taps out an ash onto the floor as his drink arrives. A tallish glass of amber liquid, with a round dark object resting at the bottom of the glass like a stone. He pulls the cigarra to his lips, watching the man carefully before offering, "I can think of better places to do research." his voice husky from the smoke. It comes out in short puffs, punctuating his words.

Paul_Nighman looks up distractedly and blinks a few times. "Well," he replies, "my room seems to be designed purely for relaxation, not for work ... the only desk there isn't good for much other than writing postcards." He smirks.

Vermillion pushes out of his own booth, bringing his drink with him and plops down in front of you, rudely and without asking. A cloud of smoke wafts your way, "Maybe you should consider upgrading your room then." he flashes a predatory smile.

Paul_Nighman eyes you in annoyance and picks up a glass from the papers it is sitting on. "Perhaps I should ... since there seems to be a high probability that I might get spilled on." He looks around for a clear spot, and not seeing on, he gets up and places the glass back on the other table from whence it came and sits himself back down, closing his book and terminal carefully. "May I _help_ you?"

Vermillion squints one wolfish eye while inhaling a draught from the cigarra, the other one keenly focused on you, "I've done a lot of this myself. Never cared for it actually, although in my line of work it's necessary. Been thinking of finding someone who seemed to enjoy it and putting them on the payroll."

Paul_Nighman leans back in his chair, his hands playing with his glasses idly. "And what kind of work do you think it is that I do?"

"Don't matter to me really. -I- for one, sometimes do research on creatures who have, shall we say, -profitable- qualities.. but I hate it." Vermillion replies, shrugging his shoulders as he stretches out his arms against the booth back. "If you're a researcher, I could use you." he makes a conscious effort to smooth over the word 'use' as if he as a tendency to use it in a less than friendly way.

Paul_Nighman eyes you stonily. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have a job. I am in _shipping_ and _transportation_." His intonation makes it quite clear that he is a smuggler.

Vermillion nearly chokes on his drink, raising both eyebrows, "Oh!" he laughs heartily, then shrugs, "Yeah I see.. well I've done some of that too," a crooked smile, "No live cargo though?"

Paul_Nighman grins a sly Corellian grin. He raises his cup of coffee to you. "The Bolt is small and fast," he notes. "Some live cargo is doable, but it depends on just how lively it is." His expression is all predator, playing it's favorite game of "bait and catch".

Vermillion extends a warm hand, "Khaj Greengrass. Privateer." he drawls in a voice as smooth and rich as a glazed ham.

Paul_Nighman takes the hand in a firm grip and shakes it. "Nighman, Paul Nighman, Jack of all trades, including a few they haven't invented yet." His voice is warm and gravelly, but his tone contains a hint of warning in it. "Nice to meet a fellow entrepreneur."

Vermillion stands, drains the last of his glass and extends his arm where a waiter whisks by to take it away. He reaches his hand up to his mouth to pull out the dark stony object that was settled at the bottom of the glass, "Same here." he says before plopping it back into his mouth and swirling it around like a gumball, "Take it easy, I can be found here if you wanna talk. Just ask for Mr. Greengrass. They know me here." he clenches his jaw, chomping into the now soft object and walking off, one hand thrust into his pocket, the other one holding his ever present cigarra.

Paul_Nighman 's closed terminal gives off a muffled but insistent squeak. "I'll be around," Paul calls after him. He waits until Vermillion is a fair distance away before he opens the terminal and checks the awaiting message. His eyes follow Vermilion's back subtly, as he ponders the red head's intentions. "Damn but if I don't run into troublesome red heads everywhere I go," he mumbles under his breath.

Vermillion leaves the Dining Room, headed for the Lobby. Vermillion has left.