Judgement – How To Get To A Man That Can't Be Gotten Too
by Patrick Shark & Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin
Post Details
::ON::
The Q’uit's bar. Supposedly one of the places the “low lives” go for nefarious dealings, or so Shark was told. Even though it was relatively early in the day, it seems that the bar liked it darker, which was fine for him. He walked in, went to the bar and leaned on it, awaiting the arrival of the bar tender.
Q'uit, massive, scarred, eyed the human with his good eye, his milky eye twitching in the same direction. "Yes, Human?"
Placing a few things of latinum on the bar, Shark's gaze never left the huge man in front of him. "Information," he said a tad vague at first.
The Klingon looked at the mismatched pile of strips, slips and objet d'art. "What Information?"
"Pharmacist," he said gently. He was figuring, and hoping, that the Klingon would know what he meant by the word. But judging by the eye and scarring, the man had seen his fair share of combat, and was probably not stutpid.
Quit nodded a head towards a figure sitting in a booth at the end of the bar. All he could see in the dark was a pair of chunky boots resting on the table.
"Qatlho'," he said placing another few things of latinum on the bar. Shark popped his neck, then his knuckles, turned towards the booth and started heading that way. He made a mental note to make sure he had some form of weapon on him, just in case this figure was the fighting type. Instead of trying to see what the person would say, Shark just approached the booth and sat down across from the person, but that was just Shark's nature. No real care.
The boots he could see as he approached were attached to a pair of shapely legs, clad in a tight black fabric that gleamed slightly. When he sat, the boots pulled back slowly, one after the other, and a trill woman sat forward. She was blonde, her hair pulled back into a long plait that dropped casually over her left shoulder, snaking down across the black vest she wore to coil in her lap. In her right hand was a fat cigar. She drew on it, and then let fly a smoke ring. "Who and What are you?"
Shark sat there for a moment watching the woman, trying to gain some sort of judgement on the Trill. "Patrick Shark, pain in the ass to anyone who has an enemy with the right price."
"And you have a friend with the right price, and an ass in need of pain." There was an amused light in her eyes. It wasn't a question.
Shark laughed at the comment. "Quick witted. I like that. But you are in fact right." The laugh subsided a moment but the smile stayed a moment. "I need help causing that pain as well."
"Really," She arched an eyebrow and puffed another smoke ring out. This time she add a little huff, and bullseyed it with another ball of smoke. ""But you look so big and strong?"
Ignoring the smoke rings, as he didn't really care about them as much, he shrugged his shoulders. "However true or untrue this may be, not all thing require brute force my dear. What I'm planning needs a little more - tact - and descretion." He smiled.
"Discretion is my business. What sort of tact are you looking for?"
Shark smiled a tad more. "I admit to not knowing your name, your reputation, or your specialty, but what I need is something either ingestible or that can be used in a modified syringe at close contact."
She looked at him, and then ground the cigar out in her palm, and placed it between them on the table. But it did not seem a gesture meant to intimidate, more a unconscious habit. Shark could see a thick patch of scar tissue in the dish of her hand. "End result? Species? Weight? Height?" she fired questions at him. "I may be able to help you. But I need specifics."
"Dead, Cardassian, around 160 pounds, and six foot four," he said without even blinking.
A feint flicker of a smile. "How quick? How painful? How detectable?" The tone was purring, amused. She knew his intended target. But whilst the voice was soft the eyes were hard, calculating the best way to kill a Reptile.
"No more than a week, no less than an hour, I do not care about the pain, and it needs to be as untraceable as possible." He looked up at the Trill woman. "The longer I stay off the radar, the better. And I think you'd like it that way too."
She dipped her chin by way of acknowledgment. "Thats a tall order. What's your budget?"
A small shrug of his shoulders and a wave of his hand came from the shadows. "No importance. Name your price."
"You have options. How close are you willing to get to deliver the poison?"
Another shrug came from Shark. "I get as close or not as needed. You get me what you can, and if it needs something special, I go from there. If not, I have, as you put it, options."
The trill woman nodded thoughtfully. "Be back here at 2200 tonight." She gave him a toothy grin, picking up her cigar and relighting it. "Bring lots of latinum."
Shark stood up and popped his neck. He pulled a small pouch from his jacket and tossed it on the table. It clinged as it hit the table. "I'll bring more tonight, but there is a start." He nodded towards the women and took off.
::OFF::
Patrick Shark
Bounty Hunter
Hex
Trill 'Pharmacist'
by Patrick Shark & Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin
Post Details
| Title | How To Get To A Man That Can't Be Gotten Too | |
| Mission | Judgement | |
| Author(s) | Patrick Shark & Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin | |
| Posted | Sun Aug 07, 2011 @ 10:57am | |
| Location | Q'uit's Klingon Bar, Promenade Level 1 | |
| Timeline | SD 39 0800 |
The Q’uit's bar. Supposedly one of the places the “low lives” go for nefarious dealings, or so Shark was told. Even though it was relatively early in the day, it seems that the bar liked it darker, which was fine for him. He walked in, went to the bar and leaned on it, awaiting the arrival of the bar tender.
Q'uit, massive, scarred, eyed the human with his good eye, his milky eye twitching in the same direction. "Yes, Human?"
Placing a few things of latinum on the bar, Shark's gaze never left the huge man in front of him. "Information," he said a tad vague at first.
The Klingon looked at the mismatched pile of strips, slips and objet d'art. "What Information?"
"Pharmacist," he said gently. He was figuring, and hoping, that the Klingon would know what he meant by the word. But judging by the eye and scarring, the man had seen his fair share of combat, and was probably not stutpid.
Quit nodded a head towards a figure sitting in a booth at the end of the bar. All he could see in the dark was a pair of chunky boots resting on the table.
"Qatlho'," he said placing another few things of latinum on the bar. Shark popped his neck, then his knuckles, turned towards the booth and started heading that way. He made a mental note to make sure he had some form of weapon on him, just in case this figure was the fighting type. Instead of trying to see what the person would say, Shark just approached the booth and sat down across from the person, but that was just Shark's nature. No real care.
The boots he could see as he approached were attached to a pair of shapely legs, clad in a tight black fabric that gleamed slightly. When he sat, the boots pulled back slowly, one after the other, and a trill woman sat forward. She was blonde, her hair pulled back into a long plait that dropped casually over her left shoulder, snaking down across the black vest she wore to coil in her lap. In her right hand was a fat cigar. She drew on it, and then let fly a smoke ring. "Who and What are you?"
Shark sat there for a moment watching the woman, trying to gain some sort of judgement on the Trill. "Patrick Shark, pain in the ass to anyone who has an enemy with the right price."
"And you have a friend with the right price, and an ass in need of pain." There was an amused light in her eyes. It wasn't a question.
Shark laughed at the comment. "Quick witted. I like that. But you are in fact right." The laugh subsided a moment but the smile stayed a moment. "I need help causing that pain as well."
"Really," She arched an eyebrow and puffed another smoke ring out. This time she add a little huff, and bullseyed it with another ball of smoke. ""But you look so big and strong?"
Ignoring the smoke rings, as he didn't really care about them as much, he shrugged his shoulders. "However true or untrue this may be, not all thing require brute force my dear. What I'm planning needs a little more - tact - and descretion." He smiled.
"Discretion is my business. What sort of tact are you looking for?"
Shark smiled a tad more. "I admit to not knowing your name, your reputation, or your specialty, but what I need is something either ingestible or that can be used in a modified syringe at close contact."
She looked at him, and then ground the cigar out in her palm, and placed it between them on the table. But it did not seem a gesture meant to intimidate, more a unconscious habit. Shark could see a thick patch of scar tissue in the dish of her hand. "End result? Species? Weight? Height?" she fired questions at him. "I may be able to help you. But I need specifics."
"Dead, Cardassian, around 160 pounds, and six foot four," he said without even blinking.
A feint flicker of a smile. "How quick? How painful? How detectable?" The tone was purring, amused. She knew his intended target. But whilst the voice was soft the eyes were hard, calculating the best way to kill a Reptile.
"No more than a week, no less than an hour, I do not care about the pain, and it needs to be as untraceable as possible." He looked up at the Trill woman. "The longer I stay off the radar, the better. And I think you'd like it that way too."
She dipped her chin by way of acknowledgment. "Thats a tall order. What's your budget?"
A small shrug of his shoulders and a wave of his hand came from the shadows. "No importance. Name your price."
"You have options. How close are you willing to get to deliver the poison?"
Another shrug came from Shark. "I get as close or not as needed. You get me what you can, and if it needs something special, I go from there. If not, I have, as you put it, options."
The trill woman nodded thoughtfully. "Be back here at 2200 tonight." She gave him a toothy grin, picking up her cigar and relighting it. "Bring lots of latinum."
Shark stood up and popped his neck. He pulled a small pouch from his jacket and tossed it on the table. It clinged as it hit the table. "I'll bring more tonight, but there is a start." He nodded towards the women and took off.
::OFF::
Patrick Shark
Bounty Hunter
Hex
Trill 'Pharmacist'