[Omega] Book of the Month

Bright lights, flashing signs, the din of a constant, hungering crowd; these were the things that had become the norm to Cerastes over the past few months. He'd anticipated his trip to Omega to last scarcely a few weeks, but underlying circumstances clad in a set of vibrant green scales had kept him tied to the galaxy's seedy underbelly for far longer than he could have guessed. Not that it mattered: he wasn't at home anywhere in the galaxy. If it wasn't Omega, he'd be wasting his hours somewhere else, drowning in spreadsheets as the rest of the universe moved on without him.

Bruised lips curled into a dissatisfied grimace as he leaned on the railing to the balcony, his arms folded over its edge. The restaurant behind him had been strangely giving with his request to rent out the deck for a few hours, perhaps due to the economic collapse that had clawed the life from much of the station's occupants. Whatever the reason, the location suited his purposes well: it was high and tucked away from the life below, private; there would be no risk of bugging here.

Eventually, he shoved off the edge and turned towards the long table behind him. The deck was clearly meant for larger parties, but it was empty now save for an albino drell, a mug of coffee, and a bottle of Armagnac.

As he waited for Shirin Vedral to arrive, he swept a few fingers over the table's top - huh, it had actually been dusted recently - and then pressed them to the cut carved into the corner of his mouth. It had stopped bleeding now, but the sting to his pride remained all the same. Of all the fucking audacity... a trio of vorcha had attacked him on his way to the restaurant. They'd been dispatched quickly enough, and yet he was still infuriated - when the hell did street rats attack him in the open?

These were dark times indeed, he concluded.

Shirin was exactly on time, which meant that by her standards, she was a few minutes late. In her defense, twenty minutes ago she had been finalizing the sale of the title to some very choice Thessian real estate and dividing the profits among her team, and on top of that the trip from Illium to Omega had left her slightly jet-lagged.

Still, business was business, even when it was with Cerastes, and so it was that she appeared at the restaurant's deck, looking remarkably distinctive - when not on the job, her fondness for pieces of couture tended to fill the void that not needing to be in disguise left. It was another custom-tailored, high-collar coat, except this one was black, and the collar arced around the back of her head like a crest, rather than masking part of her face - turian in origin, most likely. A red streak up one side provided a measure of asymmetry that drew the eye.

A terse word to the staff got her a glass of ice water, which she set down on the table before taking a chair across from Cerastes.

"Well?"

For once, they were both in (fairly) casual attire.

Cerastes refocused on Shirin as she entered, eyes squinting a tad as he eyed her coat. The woman had... strange taste, he'd admit, but at least it was refined. Personally, he'd opted for a much more simple attire: a black suit with matching undershirt and tie, typical fare for him, although there was the addition of a cup and a protective vest hidden beneath the cloth. It was Shirin he was dealing with, after all.

"Surprised you came on such short notice," he rumbled. Methodically, he took a sip from his own glass and ignored the armagnac - it wasn't for him. "I found her. You're probably not going to like it."

Despite having interacted with the other drell on multiple occasions, Cerastes had apparently not yet picked up on her tremendous lack of patience when it came to personal matters. He remained standing, scales of his brow furrowed with thought.

"She's on Illium."

He had probably learned from experience and decided to wear a cup this time. If she had to beat him, she was going to have to chop him in the throat a few times. Not nearly as satisfying.

Shirin felt a brief pang of irritation as she lit a tsigaro and stared across the table at Cerastes. A moment of temptation passed - it probably would've been appropriate, if unreasonable, to spend the next five minutes explaining that Illium was a large urban planet with an estimated eighty-five million people (plus stations) and that if this was the extent of his information's specificity then she was going to throw him over the balcony - but with considerable restraint, the drell took a puff of smoke and then opted for the more straightforward approach.

"Where on Illium?"

Well, she hadn't tried to relieve him of his genitalia yet. This was going much better than the last time they'd met, all things considered. He allowed some of the tension to vacate his body, shoulders dropping into a more relaxed stance, but refused to let himself feel completely at ease; Shirin was too unpredictable for that.

A smooth step forward took him to the edge of the table; he rapped his fingertips atop it.

"Nos Olmos," he continued. "She frequents a library nearby - The 2187 Memorial Library - for a fair amount of her external communications, but given that it's a public environment, I would recommend against cornering her there."

Cerastes probably would not know the exact motivations behind the deep, frustrated sigh that Shirin let out behind the tsigaro, only that something had greatly annoyed her at this particular moment.

Nos Olmos. Of course. Of fucking course it would be Nos Olmos.

She breathed out a cloud of smoke, took a long sip of the ice water, and then the wheels began to turn - slowly at first, enraged as she was, but turning nonetheless.

"Anything on residence, contacts, habits? Does she or any of her associates have any way of knowing you were asking about her?"

"Yes."

The cool way he said it was a direct contrast Shirin's reaction. Cerastes tongued at his cheek, tilted his neck back and cracked it. Ahhh. Now he was ready for the slap that he suspected was about to come.

When he opened his eyes and looked back to Shirin, she was treating him with the absolute most menacing, horrible stare any woman had ever conjured. Had he not been prepared for it in advance, Cerastes likely would have stumbled back in alarm; she looked like she was ready to leap on him and tear out his eyes. A small smile tucked the corners of his lips as he leaned forward and popped the cork to the armagnac on the table, then started to pour her an ample glass.

Maybe it'd soothe her.

Probably not.

This was going to hurt.

"It was Grom who confirmed my suspicions, after all. I imagine she'll be out and in the open in search of me within a few hours after I land."

Although nothing physically happened in the ten seconds following Cerastes' answer, the metaphorical effect was similar to one of those animated shorts where the cartoon varren was running at something, saw danger ahead, then tried to stop and was left comically pinwheeling his legs and sliding on the ground. About a moment before Shirin could become intensely violent, the other drell spoke again and she processed the implications of his words, bringing her train of thought to a screeching halt for redirection.

Oh.

...Oooooh.

"...I see," she replied cautiously, sitting forward a bit in the chair. "That's a bit farther than most people would've gone in your position, but as long as your initiative doesn't go too far, I think it's certainly worth what I'm paying."

Three fingers drummed on the table, and her eyes flicked over to the bottle of armagnac as Cerastes poured it.

"Chateau de Cerbois. How creative. Before I take any action regarding this information, did you already have a plan beyond this point?"

"You bought an absurd wine when we first met; despite the dire transgressions this month has brought, I assumed it was owed."

His reply was terse; this was not a romantic gesture on his part, nor was it even friendly - it was purely business. Cerastes set the bottle down carefully and pushed the cork back in with a finger, then leaned back and out of melee range. A pair of red eyes settled in on Shirin, half-lidded with annoyance at her follow-up remarks.

"I'm tempted to say no, just to see what you'll do," he began, then, mercifully, "but yes, and it involves you being very fucking fast in a short window of time."

The drell swiped his glass of water once more and gulped down half of it; the cold liquid stung against his split lip. "This is the sort of contract that leaves little to exact science, I'm afraid."

Brandy was supposed to be served in a snifter, but Shirin overlooked that. She did, however, take a quick sniff before imbibing - her eye twitched, and then at the actual sip it widened almost imperceptibly, and she set the glass back down nearly at arm's length.

"Exact science is a nice commodity in my line of work, but not one we usually get," she answered, pressing her lips together for a moment. "So go ahead and - augh, did you store the bottle on its side or something - go ahead and lay it out for me. I'll probably use your plan as more of a...framework, to be modified, but I'm not opposed to collaborating."

This was putting it very politely; although Cerastes had proven skilled at gathering information, she severely doubted any plan of attack he came up with was going to be half as good as hers. Still, it was always good to take input from others and adapt ideas accordingly. You never knew where inspiration would strike from.

Coffee was something Cerastes knew and understood. He was excellent with preparing the roasts, grinding them by hand until the consistency was just right (if you'll forgive the innuendo); brandy, however, was an entirely different matter. His attention focused on Shirin's expression as she took a sip, the slight but notable displeasure. Damn.

"Some of us are fond of having our wits about us, Ms. Vedral," he replied to her jab. "In the regrettable case that this gesture requires a repeat performance, however, your suggestion has been noted."

Shirin's assumption that the broker wasn't much of a field planner was an astute observation on her part. The albino drell across from her was much more familiar with whispers and shadows, his work having adapted him to working in the background rather than in the line of fire. His offer of drawing Suri'Neyvi out was quite a stretch for him; she couldn't have known, of course, but a bitter knot in his stomach wished for her to understand just how far he was sticking his neck out for her.

Finally, he took a seat and folded his legs, ankle to knee. His hands folded in his lap.

"Grom was a close contact of hers pre-war. If he hasn't already forward her information on me at the very least, I'll be astonished." He looked off the balcony again, watched the flickering lights of skycars in the distance. "I've already got resources on the ground in Nos Olmos, although a recent... altercation nearby disrupted some communications. If I land nearby, either she or one of her close associates is going to come, I'm sure of it."

And, presumably, attempt to relieve him of his internal organs.

"I'm going to start haunting areas she stays in to draw her attention. I have a means of contacting her, thanks to a most unlikely source on the extranet," fucking forums, "but we don't want to spook her, here. If I stay close enough to the nest, it can be assumed my presence is going to warrant a response on their part - which is where you'll come in, assuming you and your little band of men are ready for this." A hand reached up to adjust his tie. He frowned at how far she'd placed the glass of armagnac from her person. "This is going to need to be quick, and it's going to need to be quiet. A public incident in the middle of Nos Olmos is... undesirable."

They had entered 'tread carefully' territory now.

Cerastes was painfully underestimating Shirin's knowledge of just what capacity an information dealer was expected to work in, which suggested he probably wasn't familiar with her background - which suggested, in turn, that the measures she'd gone to in order to erase most of it were still reasonably effective. Excellent.

Still, the implications of his actions left her nervous - there was a lot being needlessly put on the line, meaning either he had some kind of personal investment in making sure this went off or (more likely, in her experience) he'd been turned.

"Let's be straightforward," she said, proceeding to be anything but straightforward. "You've been remarkably effective so far and you're going well past the extent that I'm paying you for." A sip of the water, and her eyes, behind pale red AR sunglasses, studied the other drell.

"Are you looking to establish a more permanent working relationship after this?"

No reason to ask 'what's your angle' outright, and definitely no reason to tell him she wasn't bringing her running crew for this one.

Fortunately for Shirin, 'personal' was one of the words that rarely applied to the broker beside her. Pursuing Suri'Neyvi had left Cerastes with few options in the end; he could continue to pluck away bit by bit at her cyber-defenses and risk discovery (and death), or he could choose the more obvious route and simply drag her out with his person (death still applied). If the situation were to turn lethal, he had several escape plans in tact, but Shirin didn't need to know about that. Revenant Corp was as resourceful as it was enigmatic.

To digress, Shirin's proposal resulted in a moment of quiet as Cerastes mulled over the opportunity. His tongue sought out the wound on his lip again - he'd been poking at it almost obsessively since his earlier altercation with the vorcha, as the cut itself was in a nagging and obnoxious location.

"Depending on how this assignment plays out," he eventually said, speaking slowly, "that could very well be a foreseeable outcome."

The green-scaled drell was hot-tempered and dangerous, but if the credits kept rolling in like they did... well, he was in no position to deny them. The two drell locked eyes, but they were both unreadable.

"I had assumed, based upon our scrap in the warehouse, that you were more interested in terminating all communications as soon as we were done."

"I was. At the moment, I still am."

Snuffing out the tsigaro, Shirin left it where it lay.

"With that said, you're risking your life to make sure I act successfully on the information I bought from you--"

--and it was then that another possibility crossed her mind, that in digging around he had triggered some interest from Eclipse and they were looking to make sure he stopped asking questions. He could probably give her up, but even if he did, considering who they were dealing with, he'd probably still die. That would explain some things, actually--

"--which is certainly worth taking into consideration, even if turns out not to be necessarily consistent with the way you do business."

Best not to jump to conclusions, though. She would show up at Illium with a backup plan for a sting - if he was setting one up, she'd be prepared, and if she wasn't, well...wouldn't that be one of life's pleasant little surprises.

"Cute."

It wasn't.

"There's more to this than the credits, Ms. Vedral."

There was!

"If this is a successful operation," he waved the 'if' off dismissively, "the gains to our reputations will be significant. You as a successor to a very prominent post-war power vacuum, and me, well, word won't proceed me, but I reap with a different sickle."

What was there to say? Cerastes could practically taste the tension in the air; Shirin had no reason to trust him, and truthfully, if he were in her (very expensive) shoes, he would have felt the same way. The one thing he could be thankful of thusfar was that she hadn't actually tried to hit him yet, although those few moments of pain were the ones that, at times, made him feel the most alive.

"Consider my comm open to you again," he rasped. "You'll want to hide behind the typical proxies and watch what you say, but a potential leak on my location is no longer a concern. All I ask is that you stay within range."

As it happened, despite Cerastes' implications, Shirin was largely disinterested in power vacuums, successorhood, or really much of anything dealing with politics. She'd been trained to keep a relatively low profile, except where necessary - notoriety and public disinformation could serve you well, but knowing when to use those was the mark of a pro. (For the record, the rule was 'if you can envision any way whatsoever in which it could backfire in a way you couldn't immediately recover from, don't risk it'.)

No reason to lecture him on it, though.

"All right. I'll wait until you update me with your location and then, well, I'll be around."

No promises, no details. If he was in Suri'Neyvi's pocket, the less he knew, the better - but not quite to the point where he realized she suspected and tipped the quarian off. Walking into traps, much like being interrogated, was a delicate science, one relying a lot on establishing control (again, much like being interrogated).

"Try to find somewhere with corridors and tight spaces, if you don't mind. A floor plan ahead of time would help."

"Assuming Ms. Suri'Neyvi doesn't tear me off of the street and tie me to a radiator," he chuckled dryly, "I will do my best to provide applicable floorplans well in advance."

A sense of humor was something Cerastes often found himself lacking, but in situations such as these, he'd found his clientele often found some comfort if he at least attempted to look friendly. His success with such tactics largely resulted on how closely said clientele was watching him; a quick glance at his eyes rarely revealed any spark of amicability.

"Can the armagnac be salvaged, Ms. Vedral?"

"Once it's bad, it's bad." In the event that Cerastes wasn't betraying her and didn't need to be necktied and left hanging from an underpass, it was in her best interests to be at least a little cordial, so Shirin added: "...but I appreciate the gesture."

There, that was gracious enough. She pushed back from the chair and rolled her shoulders, letting the coat fall back into place around her sides and legs.

"I'll keep my schedule relatively open. You know how to reach me."

Damn. He frowned at the bottle, which had been left abandoned on the tabletop. Some lucky waiter was going to be happy tonight, he figured.

"Only fair, although I've made a habit of striking out, it seems." The broker pushed out of his seat and adjusted his tie, allowing Shirin to step ahead of him towards the exit. "I'll be in touch, Ms. Vedral."

If all went well, she wouldn't leave him bleeding dry on the streets of Nos Olmos, but he didn't have his hopes up. Illium was a treacherous place, and he was headed straight to the heart of it.

At least he hadn't needed the cup.

Fin.