[Omega] A Sinking, A Sickening of the Heart (Closed)

By all appearances, Moonlight was a club that could be described in one word: who?

It was, in its entirety, another hole in the wall that made up the peppered structure of Omega. Although he had walked past it more times than he could count, Cerastes had never bothered to give the establishment a second glance. His surprise was palpable when he'd read his contact's requested location for the night - of all the places they could have met on the station, Moonlight would have been his last guess.

Perhaps that was why it made sense. The anonymity of the place provided a certain sense of security; it was unlikely that anyone high-profile would be present, and better yet, it was just as improbable that any meeting held within would be remembered by other patrons.

He was early - twenty minutes and twenty-seven seconds early, to be exact. The drell hadn't bothered to call in advance; the club was only moderately busy on the best of nights, and he had little doubt that he'd be able to secure a table with ease. As it was, his predictions turned out to be true. A quick glance revealed a quiet table off to the side of the dance floor, unobstructed by dancers or bored servers.

Sliding into his seat, Cerastes glanced at the time on his omnitool. All he had to do now was wait.

Apparently Cerastes' 'other half' had arrived early as well, because he'd barely waited five minutes before a batarian bouncer approached his table. "You're part of the group that rented the back room, yeah? This way, sir."

The back halls of Moonlight were even more sparse than the dance floor, and it took nearly a minute of roaming amid decaying, gray-painted synthcrete walls before the batarian led Cerastes into a particularly shadowy corridor. It wouldn't have been unreasonable for him to think he'd been set up to be assaulted, until the bouncer opened a door and let him into an equally dim room. A single table sat in the corner, adorned with two glasses and a bottle of remarkably expensive wine, and in the corner behind it was a shadowy figure in a chair.

"Let us know when you want out, sir," said the batarian. He backed out and closed the door behind him.

"Mr. Cerastes." The figure's voice was appropriately throaty, befitting a drell, and very heavily modulated. "Have a seat. Apologies for all the precautions. I'm sure you understand."

"Mm? Ah, yes. I believe I am."

"Assault" was exactly the scenario Cerastes anticipated as he was led into the back room, but he had come prepared. Although the drell was presently outfitted in a black suit and tie, he had enough weaponry stowed about his person to make up for potential dangers. It was standard in this business; he knew that the woman he was meeting would be equally prepared, if not moreso.

The room Shirin had chosen was appropriately dark and gloomy. The albino drell paused at the entryway out of respect, though his red eyes took a moment to sweep over his surroundings as a precaution. Once he was familiarized, he turned his attentions to the shadowed figure in the corner.

"No need to apologize, ma'am," he rasped in turn. "This would be our first meeting, it's only reasonable that you would exercise caution."

The male drell approached one of the available seats when the opportunity was presented to him, his movements slow and calculated.

"This isn't the first time I've been approached with the kind of information you're offering. Glad you understand." The figure twitched slightly in the chair. "Feel free to have some of the wine. It's a 2090 Sa-El from the Gemstone Lakes Vineyard, back before the Reapers destroyed Nos Astra I. Lightly bodied, kind of a citrus tinge with undertones of oak. Gives a thoughtful aftertaste with the consistency of water."

There was a pause, and one of the lights near the door cut out and immediately lit back up, bringing the room from near-total-darkness back up to unpleasant, shadowy gloom.

"Now. Suri'Neyvi. I'm listening."

A lot could be said of first impressions. Cerastes was of the mind that the first few sentences uttered by a person were the most important, and as such, he listened closely to what Shirin had to say. What he garnered was that she was a woman of class amidst chaos; she might have existed in a sphere of unknowns, but she likely took refuge in appreciation of the arts.

In short, she was a drell he could respect, for the moment.

"If you haven't eaten, I assume you will allow me to cover dinner or other accoutrements, in light of this." Out of custom, Cerastes stood as he spoke and took the bottle into his hands, then offered to top off the glass across from him before pouring his own. "The voice-com is unnecessary."

As was the lighting. He took his seat once more, arms folded in his lap, and stared into the darkness. "You have no reason to trust me, but I would assume the basic courtesy of identity."

He knew full well it wasn't a "basic" courtesy in the least, but what was the use of gambling if you never threw down the chips?

There was a pause, and then as the shadowy figure twitched, a weary chuckle drifted over the room. "Fair enough. Hang on."

A moment later, the door opened and a green-scaled drell stepped in, flanked by one of the bouncers. She nodded towards the corner, and the bouncer began to drag the chair out, giving Cerastes a good view of the human strapped to it with a bag over his head and a comm hanging around his neck. Pulling up a different chair, she took up a spot opposite the other drell and picked up a glass of the wine.

"All right, in retrospect, that could've been less obvious. I had to improvise at the last minute; you have to understand, there are people who have come to me with the exact same line you did and then tried to shoot me the minute I was in the same room." She was dressed warmly, in a heavy, draping white coat, roughly the color of Cerastes' scales that locked together in the front. The collar was high enough to cover up part of her mouth, but at least she had the courtesy to go without a hood; her eyes were quite visible, and right now they were intently staring across the table. "Shirin Vedral. Pleasure to meet you."

Pulling the collar down slightly, she took a sip from the wine glass.

"Now then."

... well.

Cerastes was rapidly learning that he would have to amend his "first impressions" rules to a more extensive allotment. He maintained a sense of neutrality as the human was dragged (muffled-protests abound) from the table, although a closer look at his eyes would have revealed a flicker of surprised approval. The woman he was meeting with might have been young, but she had demonstrated in that instant that she was more clever than he would have guessed.

As the emerald drell entered the room, Cerastes stood once more, his lean frame towering over that of his company's. He was about to move to pull out her chair when she took it for herself - another cue, that - and sat down unattended. Casting a curt smile in her direction, he returned to his previous estate and raised his glass to her.

"There's always room for experimentation, ma'am." The wine was all-too-pleasant to his palate; a quick glance into the glass revealed flakes of red ruminating at the bottom, a sign that Shirin had truly chosen a quality bottle for the occasion. "You already know my name, but the pleasure is shared all the same."

A sip.

"As I messaged you, I was in the process of receiving a potentially intriguing proposition from a contact that we may share interest in." Red eyes strayed towards the woman's coat - she had a lot of room under there - then ventured to the rest of the room. "Are you aware of the enemies Ms. Suri'Neyvi has accumulated, ma'am?"

She'd been to this dance before. Shirin kept both hands in sight; one rested on the tabletop while the other grasped the wine glass, and every motion of the glass to her mouth was smooth and slow. Considering how difficult it would probably be to get the coat open and draw a weapon, by the looks of it, the entire thing appeared calculated towards a nonthreatening image.

"I'm one of them, yes. I've been keeping an eye out for her...about two years now." She measured Cerastes with a stare, probably intrigued by his unusual coloring. "Lately I've started to think she'd look good as a coverlet."

A long, savory swill of the wine punctuated that statement. It was perhaps a bit deeper than was strictly polite, but this was Omega and payment spoke louder than perfect manners, as long as you didn't insult your clientele.

"What did you find?"

Stares were something Cerastes was used to. In the present scenario, it was almost comforting; he was treading on unfamiliar territory now, and having the familiarity of being otherworldly to his company was a relief. As Shirin scrutinized him, he settled for relishing the taste of the wine. It had been too long since he'd had such a luxury.

"I'd garnered," he replied. "Hence why I reached out to you. This is, as you will understand, a matter of business for me. If you're interested by what I have to offer, I will provide more information as is dictated."

Noting her posture, he clasped his hands upon the tabletop. "Are you aware of a one Rom Anbel?"

"Yes."

How aware Shirin was of Rom Anbel went unsaid; it was not something that needed to be advertised. She had inherited an extensive database, thorough in the ways that only drell could compile data, with the histories of quite a few interesting individuals in it, and there had been a red stripe and a "KOS" at the top of the volus's file.

This situation was gradually showing some serious potential.

She took another sip of the wine, sensing all kinds of possibilities involving two birds and one stone. "Has she fallen back in with him?"

As Shirin contemplated the data, Cerastes made a generous gesture towards one of her bodyguards. A reasonable sum of credits were slid to the man in accompany to a raspy whisper. Once that was taken care of, the drell returned his attention to the woman across from him. Moonlight wasn't exactly a classy establishment, but he would do what he could in the meantime to provide for his company.

He'd have to arrange for something more appropriate after their business had been conducted.

"Mm. 'In' would be a creative inclination." Sensing that Shirin sought reassurance above all else, he reclined further in his seat and crossed his legs, ankle to knee. "Typically, I'd request an advance in anticipation of what I'm about to say to you, but given your... delicate connection to the situation at hand, I'll forgo that formality. I feel perhaps your priority as one of Abattoir's offspring will affect our conversation, as well."

The glass was removed from the table and raised to his lips; it was not his intent to provide dramatic pause, but rather to allow Shirin a moment to process what he was about to say. "It is my belief that Mr. Anbel intends to assassinate Ms. Suri'Neyvi, utilizing the information he has requested of me. Based upon your relation, I had assumed you might have a prioritized interest in the matter."

Hmm.

"You're well-informed." It was obvious, but sort of a requisite compliment, she supposed.

The batarian returned shortly afterwards, begrudgingly carrying a covered bowl. "A, uh, a platter of our finest Ashmiri locusts, sir." The honeyed locusts were something of a delicacy in formerly-Hegemony space and the parts of the Omega Nebula where batarians had heavily settled, and were probably the classiest thing a dive like Moonlight had to offer.

Shirin watched the exchange, but her attention was totally on the subject at hand. This could potentially be the kind of lead that came once in a long while, and that made the situation serious enough to give it full attention.

Part of that involved a measure of skepticism towards Cerastes' apparent generosity. Qui bono, after all.

"I do have a prioritized interest," she said, rubbing her lips together and savoring the wine's taste. "Which makes me wonder, Mr. Cerastes, what's your prioritized interest? What angle pushed you into this meeting?"

It was rare that Cerastes actively swore.

As the "dish" was delivered, a solid and most deserved "fuck" reverberated throughout his being. Here he was, sitting across from a woman who had provided an exquisite bottle of wine, and the two of them had been presented with something that looked as though it had been hastily reheated in the strange event that someone at Moonlight had actually ordered food.

The drell immediately rubbed at the scales between his brow. How embarrassing. He had hoped it might have at least staved off some hunger on behalf of Shirin, but it was obvious that this would not do.

"Aside from perhaps presenting you with something other than varren kibble," he began, "I have precisely two different angles. The first, I hope, is most obvious - our volus contact is in a place of financial despair, which has resulted in him offering me a poor fee in exchange for Ms. Suri'Neyvi's whereabouts. In addition, this is not exactly a typical request on behalf of my clientele. If I am going to pursue a more exotic subject," exotic, in this case, being quite obviously substituted for 'absurdly dangerous,' "I would rather associate myself with a more reliable and invested clientele."

"Kibble, nothing - I like Ashmiri." Shirin pulled one of the locusts from the bowl, popped off its wings with a twitch of her wrist, and downed it in two bites. "I come from Circumstances; liking the finer things in life doesn't make me picky. Uh, if you haven't had these before, just make sure you pull the wings off first. They're decorative."

Now, here they were, at the root of the situation. The other drell had made a good choice, which was reasonable considering what little of his background Shirin knew. You didn't last long as a reckless information broker.

"Mmhmm. That's understandable. Very wise, I think." She leaned back a little, bit into another locust. "My other question is just as self-interested, I'm afraid. I'm not an assassin, Mr. Cerastes. I'm not a mercenary either. I work for myself - occasionally, I make business deals when it suits my interests, but by and large I'm what you'd call self-employed." Pristine teeth glimmered from behind the collar.

"So what, exactly, are your terms? What are you offering?"

Oh.

Well, maybe he hadn't overstepped his boundaries, after all. Inwardly reluctant, Cerastes offered Shirin a thin smile and reached out to pluck a locust from the platter. He was unfamiliar with the dish, but, well, if she was making a show of enjoying them, he might as well do the same.

"Your advice is greatly appreciated." The wings were deftly removed as he spoke. Red eyes honed in on the questionable insect; he wasn't unfamiliar with eating such a thing, but Moonlight had proved that caution was more than warranted in terms of its cuisine. "My proposition is as such. Mr. Anbel has offered me a less-than-courteous sum of five-thousand credits, with the addition of a maximum of one thousand, five-hundred credits reserved for travel. As you know, the target in this arrangement is not exactly the sort that can be found floating about in Citadel Space."

He plopped the locust into his mouth. It was horrible, but he refrained from expressing his displeasure.

"Travel to the Nemean Abyss is a very real possibility for me, at this point. If you have a more appropriate fee that can be offered, I may be persuaded to delegate the information to you prior to its advancement to Mr. Anbel."

"That's only fair, I think."

Five thousand credits to hit the Abyss was absurd. Rom Anbel was in dire fucking straits if that was all he could offer to track down a mortal enemy, particularly one this well-trained (albeit lacking in judgment).

Again: qui bono. More to the point, once you've found who profits, how do you get them to split those profits? Simple: if you wanted to reach the top of the pyramid, you had to step on something, or someone, to get there.

"All right. Here's my proposal." Shirin dropped a pair of wings next to the bowl and drained the rest of her wine. "You give me Suri'Neyvi. I deal with her. Then, or possibly simultaneously, you give me Rom Anbel, and I deal with him as well. You get whatever assets he has left, to be used however you want. We go our separate ways, and in the future, if you hear about a decent score with reasonably lax security, I might consider throwing some credits your way in exchange for that information."

Dark eyes glinted in the dim light.

"Interested?"

Cerastes scrutinized the woman as she propositioned him, his attentions focused on her expression as she spoke. Not much could be gleaned that she wasn't outright stating yet, but he'd learned long ago to pay close attention to body language, sometimes moreso than what was actually being said.

The volus had something up his sleeve, he was sure of it. Whether or not Shirin was in the same league had yet to be revealed.

"That depends," Cerastes replied. "Your offer has a variability that has yet to be uncovered. Mr. Anbel's assets are an unknown factor; given what he was offering me and how he reacted to my end of the negotiations, I would suspect his monetary value has diminished significantly in the past few years."

Once more, he rose from his seat, uncorked the bottle, and poured a respectable glass for his company. After a moment's thought, he topped off his own as well.

"If you could provide an insurance package in the likelihood that he has, say, less than twenty thousand credits remaining, it would be a much more palatable offer. That is not to say that I am uninterested in working with you in the future - depending on how this venture goes, our paths could very well pass again - but you must understand that I am making an investment, here, too. I am no stranger to violence," the scars carved into his scales said as much, as did the numerous weapons he had concealed on his person, "but Mr. Anbel has considerable enemies, and the information I will be carrying regarding Ms. Suri'Neyvi, should word get out that I am in possession of it, could result in a bounty being placed on my head."

Once finished, he reclined against the back of his seat and watched Shirin from behind the rim of his glass.

They were entering high-risk territory now. Considering the conversation had started out as the kind where you had to tread carefully or risk setting yourself up for disaster...

"Of course they're diminished," Shirin sighed around a locust's head, punctuating it with a crunch. "He's a fugitive; the turian government's been after him for years now and covering your tracks when you've got a whole nation after you isn't cheap. Hell, if it weren't for the Reapers they'd probably have gotten him last year."

She met Cerastes' eyes over the rim of the glass. "Didn't tell you that, I'm guessing. Let me segue into another fun fact that'll explain why: Rom Anbel is a pathological liar. He's addicted to it. You could ask him the time of day and he'd lie to you - he might be reasonably good at it, but it'd still be a lie." Another sip from the Sa-El; Shirin appeared content to drink it as fast as it could be poured. "You're smart - you have to be in that line of work. Follow those last two revelations to their logical conclusion. Once this is done, all you're getting from him is a double-cross. Probably not the kind you're intended to walk away from either."

Gently, Shirin set her wineglass down on the table, interlaced her fingers, and rested her chin on them. To a trained study, the posture was obviously calculated to make her appear older and wiser - a necessity, considering Cerastes had a decade and change on her.

"So yes, Mr. Cerastes, I can offer you a certain amount of compensation if it turns out there's not much worth having, depending on how business goes up until that point. With that said, part of that compensation involves you surviving and not being screwed over, which I'd like to think carries a little monetary value."

She glanced at the Ashmiri bowl, appeared to think better of it, and leaned back in the chair instead, keeping her gaze locked with Cerastes'. Drell staredowns were impressive things, considering the multiple eyelids and lack of pupil definition in most eye colors.

For a woman of her age, Shirin was remarkably well-versed in this sort of business - that is to say, the shady, back-stabbing, blood-spraying variety. Even so, Cerastes wasn't fooled by her attempt to wizen herself to him; he merely offered her a curt, toothless smile, his eyes unreadable. To a less experienced person, it might have been unnerving.

"A pertinent thing to keep in mind," he added as Shirin took a sip (that was being courteous - it was more of a gulp), "is that, regardless of what I am told, it has no effect on what I may know. I am aware of his shortcomings in terms of legalities, which was, in fact, a large part of why I decided to contact you, Miss..."

He waited politely to see how she would respond, then continued.

"Regarding the chances of my survival, I would wager highly in that regard once I am properly funded." A white hand raised the glass once more; he savored another sip. After a moment's thought, he matched her gaze again. "Rom Anbel appears to believe I am stepping in your father's shadow, a concept I believe you'll find amusing; the specific remark was that I am 'one-tenth' of him. He is unfamiliar with the sort of man I am; whether this was a large contributor to the anxiety he unwittingly expressed on the call, I can't say, but it is an advantage nonetheless in that he will be much less capable of predicting my movements."

"Fair enough, sorry. My point is less 'you didn't know' and more 'he saw fit to omit it when you told you the details'."

Shirin was not going to air her Freudian issues to anybody who wasn't Kirok (maybe Suri, greatly edited for brevity and delivered moments before scooping her eyes out of her skull), and she didn't rise to the bait, opting to focus on business instead. "Don't put too much weight on that. He's overconfident, and you can see the patterns if you look closely enough, but he's not stupid, you don't evade Hierarchy national security if you don't have at least a surface understanding of the planning process." She considered drinking from the glass again, decided against it, and resumed eyeing Cerastes. "We'll cross that bridge soon enough, though. Not when we get to it, but soon enough."

Judging from her tone, there was probably a grim smile under the collar.

"As for the rest, I'll give you the entirety of what he's promised up front and...potentially more to come, depending on what happens over the next month or so. That's all I can spare right now; I'm in the middle of expanding my business, and we stand to make a reasonable windfall if it goes well."

Well, you couldn't get something for nothing. The budget would be a bit tighter for a month or so, and Shirin imagined more than a few dinners of soy chips and water were in the immediate future. Still, all this had the potential to be completely worth it.

"So. Suri?"