Welcome to Trader's Edge (The RP)

[Slate]

OOC: I don't know why, but I completely forgot to post!

IC: Cutsyr, now having past the checkpoint, made his way to a local tavern. He smiled as he looked around at the various people, and then made his way to the bar. The dragon didn't say anything, but rather took out his sketchbook, and began writing down various notes, instead waiting for someone to engage him in conversation.

[Psion]

OOC: I don't know why, but I completely forgot to post!

OoC: Still better then me, spotanously lost the ambition to even check for awhile. Anyway, I'm back.
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The customs tech having taken all the time he needed, waved Cutsyr through without a second thought. "Enjoy your stay." He called over his shoulder while the dragon would be taken through the rest of the process.
Later, the tavern he found his way to was none other then "Screwy Louie's." The squat pre-fab building was easily distinguished from its neighbors by the bright neon signs and the sounds of patrons enjoying themselves after a long shift.
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One look would have told the canine that the customs offical was a marginally tougher sell then most. His name was immediately queried to check for any records of a person matching his description without any sign of emotion. However, once she resumed the conversation she remained friendly enough. "Oh we've been doing well. Trade has picked up, almost didn't even take a dive after that damn pirate and his saurian gun buddies destroyed a large part of New Portugal. If you can't get hired anywhere on station, finding work with a charter captain is certainly easy enough. Where did you say you were from again?"
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As Tad looked at his address, he would see a tall engineer of one of the ursine systems, dressed in a military uniform that did a good job holding in his considerable middle. "Oh very good drinks. I've been to my fair share of ports of call and this is definitely my favorite. Come, I know a good pub. Stavanvic Cherikcov does not lie!" He gestured to the otter and smiled politely, motioning for him to follow the bear techie.

[Brome Teks]

"Okay. Could do with something to drink anyways..." He would go ahead and follow the bear, gripping the case tightly.

[Yorrick]

"New Centauri. Well, what's left of it, anyway. Can I go now? I really gotta visit the refugee's room"

If nothing else is required, Robert will move on ahead.

[Psion]

(finally got off my butt and back here)

The customs agent sighed and waved Robert through before turning her attentions to the next occupant in line, a disheaveled woman with long blond hair and a sad look in her eye.
Outside, a info kiosk, a holographic computer flashing the word "Directory" across its screen, beckoned to the canine after he returned from the nearest rest room.
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Tad would find himself being lead along through the main corridor of the station's "Industrial" level, ultimately taking to a squat, noisy building near the center of the deck. This was Screwy Louie's, a obnoxiously bright neon sigh proclaimed. Across the street was a humble-looking motel abutted by two elevators leading to the upper decks of the station.
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As he sat enjoying himself, the dragon was approached by the owner of the establishment, Louie himself. "Hello traveler, how has your service been tonight?"

[Brome Teks]

"It's been uneventful enough to make me happy." He looks around, holding the case tightly. "What've you got for light liquors?"

He'll go to take a seat and hold the Briefcase in his lap.

[Yorrick]

Robert moves toward the directory, looking around to make sure he is alone before examining the screen. "What have we here?" he softly murmurs.

[Psion]

Despite humans maintaining a physical majority, the bar Tad sat in was bustling with life from across the multiverse. Locals crammed together with alien travelers in a rough interior hammered out of sheet metal. The tables were simple constructs of steel and polished wood. The stools and chairs, all of them too small for Stav and the other larger patrons of the bar, were basic analgrams of synthetic leather and more steel. In this setting sat a crowd of strange and exotic creatures, more then a few he probably would have never seen before.
A three-toed, humanoid alien wearing a cone-shaped respirator sat across from a strange reptilian being wearing a pair of welding goggles and a huge pack full of junk parts and made from a giant hollowed out steel drum. Both beings seemed engrossed in discussing technical information regarding little trinkets they both picked up in their travels.
At another table, three large female warriors of some mammalian/cybernetic species the otter wouldn't recognize off hand enjoyed large mugs of ale. One of them noticed Tad's guide/host walk past and grinned faintly as she eyed both of you up.
As the two of you sat down, the bear smirked and laughed. "Somehow friend I imagined you were not one for strong liquor." He joked. "Good Friend Louis! A Sidewinder Fang for me and one of those fruit cocktails of yours for my friend here!"
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The directory Robert found was a simple affair, a simple three-dimensional display with touch sensitive interfacing. Floating in mid-air, a cartoonish deckplan of the station hovered over the projector. A blinking light next to the docks marked his location while offering directions to all the major areas of the station. Even the residential block, which was clearly marked as being generally closed to foreigners, was listed on the directory. Beyond that, it was just a simple map program, nothing more or less.

[Brome Teks]

Tad looks down to the fruit cocktail. He sets the case in his lap and sniffs it. "Hmm... probably should avoid getting drunk to much. I'll limit myself to two drinks." He sniffs it one more time, and will drink it down.

"Is the fruit cocktail at all a quip about me being fruity?" He smirks a bit.

[Psion]

Stav blinks as if Tad told him a joke that went right over the bear's head, which it was in a sense.
"No, it was the lightest drink Louis serves. He had me try one once, hardly any liquor at all in them." He shrugged. "So what brings you to Trader's Edge?"

[Slate]

OOC: Once again, here I am neglecting to post :C *rectifies this travesty*

IC: Cutsyr gave a toothy grin before letting out a hearty chuckle. "My friend the service has been quite good!" said the dragon in time. "Indeed it is a wonderful atmosphere you have cultivated here. Would I be correct to assume you are the proprietor of this establishment?" he asked with fervor.

[Yorrick]

Robert turns over the directory in his mind. Where to go?
His stomach answered for him, a low rumbling growl, reminding him that he had not eaten good food in several days.
"Restaurants, or a pub, would be nice", he murmurs, fingering carefully through the index. His eye catches on one in particular.
"Screwie Louie’s.. Industrial level... next to a place to sleep as well.. Slowly his face widens into a grin. A fine choice or a weary traveller. Why not? he chuckles, as he quickly memorizes the correct route, before shouldering his things and heading off on a meandering walk towards the bar.

[Brome Teks]

"I'm here on business. Just some engineering cooperation between my company and another." He says, a tiny bit distracted thinking about what that that cooperation is going to achieve.

He sips the drink a little bit.

[Gusto-Pastel]

Name: Zeke Setzermann
Occupation: Self-employed engineer and trader, doing freelance trade in the bazaars of Trader's Edge. Frequently checks out on business trips and scrap reconaissance (sp?), but never straying too far in space, lest his past catch up on him.
Abilities: Self-taught engineering skills, mostly all-round, but he has a particular penchant for domestic machinery, short-range spacecraft and mechanical curiosities using vague scientific principles in creative ways, picked up from several years as a slave in an alien factory world, relatively distant in space. In this time, he learned how to make useful machines from scrap, and coupled with crude melee combat skills, he used them to assist in his breakout (many years ago by now) before being picked up by Hegemony troops performing a raid. He still bears ownership markings that he keeps hidden.
Description: A fairly dishevelled looking anthro lion, with a messy dark mane and tattered work clothes, and is usually armed to the teeth with all sorts of tools, gizmos and gadgets strapped to his person here and there for working round the shop. (Not armed with weapons, just so you know...)
Equipment: Aside from just about every sub-6-inch fitting and mechanical part known to man, he always carries a sledgehammer with him, both for work and personal protection, and one or two power tools, the most frequent being a nail gun and a power drill.

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Zeke sighs, head sank into his paw as he stares boredly out of the window at the station looming closer. He briefly peruses the other passengers, usually piloting his own craft, but much to his frustration, his personal craft was completely wrecked on his trip to the nearby asteroid belts, scouting out abandoned mining facilities as sources for scrap. As the craft slowly comes into the docking bay, he double checks his person for his many, many accessorial trinkets and gadgets hanging off him, wincing as he pats his left pectoral, before rising with the other passengers to file off in the direction of the doors.

[Psion]

(For the sake of speeding things up a bit, I'm going to say that Zeke goes through customs without much hassle)

Thirty minutes later, most of it spent idly chatting with the paper-pushers in the office who have all known Zeke fairly well by now, the lion is passed through without a second glance. Indeed, half of them have come to him when they needed something fixed either at home or in the office. After three requests for him to come by later for a repair assessment, a precursory scan performed mostly to satisfy procedure, and two employees asking him to join them for drinks at a later time, he is through and on the station proper.
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Outside of the Customs building and the hanger segment of the space station, the Industrial level was a collage of prefabricated buildings, segregated spaces, and mechanical contraptions literally built into the hull of the donut-shaped station. The segment shared by the Customs building and Screwy Louies was a "rest stop" space given over to the essentials needed by weary travelers.
Small motels with sleeping tubes for rent, a prefab sickbay painted white and practically glistening against the pallete of gunmetal gray and industrial yellows and oranges, and small eateries staffed both by sapient workers and machines, the latter being little more then glorified vending machines, catered to the short-term visitors of the station.
Outside of the rest depot, the number of prefabricated buildings deployed inside the station dropped to a few workshops and offices. The rest of the space was given over entirely to industrial machinery and countless racks upon racks of warehouse space spanning up to the level's ceiling.
Travel from one end of the level to the other was provided by a pedestrian throughfare but the only thing seperating the pedestrians from the maze of industrial machinery whirling and clamouring throughout the day were a series of sturdy safety cages and chainlink fences.
Coming from all over the galaxy, the sight of Hegemony propaganda would not be a significant shock to travelers. Every so often one would see a poster praising the elite warriors of the Hegemony Marines or a violent condemnation of the humans few true enemies, the articles hanging in vending machine areas and on the public transit tubes connecting the Industrial level to the Residential and Biosphere decks.
What probably would come off as unusual to strangers is the number of motivation posters encouraging positive attitudes and workplace safety. For every recruitment poster for the Hegemony Marines; Zeke, Tad, Robert, and Cutsyr would see three with things like "Work Smart, Work Safe" or a reminder about making sure one's personal protective equipment is in good condition.
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The barkeep nodded back. "Yes, opened this bar up when they finished constructing the station. My second establishment actually, first was on New Portugal..." His face fell as he recalled what had happened to that place. "Sorry, bad memories die hard it seems."
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"Sorry for being curious, but which company?" Stav asked politely while a tired waitress came by to take any orders for food. The bear techie smiled and winked at the human, the latter merely blushed and waited for someone to tell her what they wanted.
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The host looked up as Robert finally arrived at the entry way. "Party of one?" He asks politely.

[Brome Teks]

Darien orders some shrimp or similar seafood from the waitress.

"Corona science corporation. Perhaps you've heard of us?"

[Gusto-Pastel]

The lion chuckles and sighs as he leaves customs, again checking himself, a habit of his. He glances at a public clock and double checks it against a few of his own watches, hidden among the various attached items on his arms. With a bit of time to kill, he decides to head to Screwy Louie's for a couple of drinks before getting back to work. After all, from losing his ship he needed to drown some loss of material posession. He moves inconspicuously through the crowds, waving casually past some animated saftey advertisements, plodding into the establishment and walking right up to the bar. He throws himself at the stool, his clothes jingling and rattling noticeably. "Hard stout, please," He calls to the barman, gruff in texture but cordial in tone.

[Slate]

"Well, there is no changing the past. We can only hope the future holds better prospects." Cutsyr said, trying to be as comforting as possible. "Now, cliche as it might sound, money won't buy happiness, but it can be a catalyst for it. Whatever they are drinking, the next round is on me!" Exclaimed the large dragon. "When you have the means to allow others to enjoy themselves and be happy, why shouldn't you?" He took a second to scribble a few more notes onto his notepad, before looking to the proprietor once more. "Forgive me for assuming, but would this be the reason you created this establishment? To provide others with the means to enjoy themselves?"