[Omega, Carnage Club] Crime Pays

In the wake of the Exarch Station heist, two members of the Band were in very good standing with Shirin Vedral, and two were in the basement of the doghouse of the Realm of Disfavor.

Of the former two, Aliquam was content to stay in his quarters with a good book and a cup of tea, and so it was Jil'Korah that Shirin had taken out to the Carnage Club while Analina and Kirok cleaned the MSV Azure Wheelbarrow. She had no intent of getting the quarian drunk (because she had no intent of carrying him back), but some light refreshment and some entertainment in Omega's premiere underground fighting organization was an ample reward for his good performance back at the hospital.

Well, all that and a few extra credits.

"All right, Cerastes is going to show up fairly soon." She'd gotten them a seat right next to the railing - the circular pit underneath, where all the fights took place, was currently having the mortal remains of Talo "Terror" Ordinan washed out of it with a hose. She was looking intensely noticeable in a dark red Jaenik men's evening coat, double-breasted, with Arnisse La Roi slacks. For some reason, as human fashion went, the male stuff had always looked better on her. Probably because it was made for a creature without a giant set of mammaries. "He's probably going to whine about money."

Pausing to nurse at the end of her cigarette holder, she blew a smoke ring over Jil'Korah's head.

"When he does, feel free to make fun of him."

Jil'Korah had been meaning to pay the Carnage Club a visit for a long time now, but with all the excitement he hadn't had much of a chance. The atmosphere was pretty much what he'd expected, at least, and the buzz of excited conversation combined with the quiet exchange of credits was having an almost-euphoric effect on the young quarian. His encounter suit was less impressed.

This activity is inefficient.
I know. You told me before. Waste of potential or something.
Among other things. I do not understand our purpose here.
We're here to relax with the boss, have a good time, and bug Cerastes.
There are more efficient ways to do each of those things.
Okay, look, I'll run my omnitool in silent mode. You can use it to connect to the wifi and do whatever you want, alright?
That would be acceptable.

Fucking suit.

A few taps later and Jil's omnitool was passively providing the geth with an extranet connection, hopefully keeping him from complaining, and the quarian was back to reveling in the atmosphere.

"Making fun of Cerastes. I think I can handle that. This place is great! Any idea who's fighting next?"

It was a rare day when Cerastes was late. To be fair, his tardiness tonight was because Shirin had purposely told him they were meeting fifteen minutes after she'd arrived - a cheap trick, that.

The broker paused at the entrance of the Carnage Club to examine his reflection in one of its front windows. Hrn. He looked less tired, a bit more put-together, but his posture was still off due to both habit and the incomplete status of his physical therapy. His therapist had protested generously upon his leave, but, well, business was business, and it needed to be taken care of. Besides, he'd only be out a few days.

Satisfied, Cerastes smoothed down his tie and ventured inside. The club was busy as always, filled with a cacaphony of voices, the clang of dishware in the kitchen, the sound of fists ramming into flesh over and over as the fights dragged on. Cerastes narrowly avoided a punch to the face on his way up the stairs, but he'd been here before; coming out with at least one bruise was standard fare.

What irked him was the sight of Shirin and Jil'korah, of all people, already seated and drinking. Damnit. He'd have to sacrifice the upper-hand, this time. With a thinning of his lips, he approached the table and laid a hand on the back of an open chair.

"I was under the assumption that we were meeting at 6:30 Omegan Standard Time."

"Not a clue. Can't do any worse than the last guy did, though. You should see open challenge night, it's a bit wilder than the usual fare--"

"Returning to the arena, DEAD RECKONIIIIIING," bellowed the announcer. "And his opponents in this handicap exhibition..."

It was then that Cerastes arrived, brimming over with piss and vinegar at his perceived exclusion. He was, however, walking without a limp, which was gratifying enough to supersede all of the complaints. Shirin eyed the other drell dubiously, and motioned to the seat next to her with her glass of Northern Lights. (She'd deliberately chosen the seat in the middle - it was good to keep Jil and Cerastes sniping, but it was not good to let that escalate to the point where it got annoying, so she preferred to keep them separated).

"We were," she rasped around a mouthful of smoke, "but I got here early to make sure I had a decent table. Carnage doesn't exactly take reservations--"

"...at a combined weight of eight hundred ten pounds, SIIIIIIIIIX VOOOOOOOOORCHAAAAAAAA..."

"--and I didn't particularly fancy having to shoot anybody just to sit down and have a drink."

"Hi Cerastes, nice to see you again! You're a lot more mobile now than you were last time - leg doing okay?"

The fight below didn't waste any time getting started, and Jil consequently got distracted by it almost immediately rather than listen for the answer to his question.

"Nothing like this at all on the Flotilla. Not at all. It's all practical stuff, very boring, and not enough ships with big open spaces to do this. I can't believe the crowd!"

Every so often, Jil'Korah was more like a child than he had any right to be.

"AND THE MATCH IS OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!"

"Fair enough."

Cerastes pulled out the chair he'd been leaning on and settled into it, his weight distributing a little more evenly than when the two pirates had met him. He straightened his left leg out under the table and braced his foot against its central support, just so it wouldn't get stiff while the evening wore on.

Speaking of, Jij'korah was being unusually... nice.

"It's fine, thank --" So much for that. Cerastes heaved one of his exasperated sighs and pinched at the scale between his brows. "... Anyways. It's recovering. The scars won't fade without additional surgery, but, heh, I think I'm already worse for wear in that regard."

Shirin would know. The memory of her seeing him ass-naked, strapped to a chair and bleeding copiously rose in his throat like a bile, but he had to swallow it.

"OH NO, IS HE - HE ISN'T - THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!"

Cerastes squinted at the pair across from him. Might as well play along with the good manners for now. "I assume, considering your names are still remarkably clean in a basic search, that your heist at the hospital was pulled off without too much trouble - for your crew, that is. I had to be transferred, personally; the damage caused to the facility was quite extensive." There was a hint of smugness in his voice as he glanced to Shirin. "Eating, or just drinks tonight?"

"Just drinks."

The announcer shouted something totally incoherent and vaguely aroused as Dead Reckoning splattered a vorcha across the pit's mesh roof.

"We're under the radar, yes. Properly planned, properly executed."

Well, that and they'd framed Jorgal Dwick for a variety of felonies. Corporate sabotage, terrorism, release of a class-three bioweapon, trespassing, homicide, armed robbery...they could probably trump up a hate crimes charge since Ana had done part of it in tanface. Still, the absurdly obese krogan was wealthy and influential among the less savory elements; he would survive (and even if this weren't the case, it would've been fine, considering the amount of money they'd gotten for that sample).

"It's like this on most nights," Shirin confided to Jil. "Usually not somewhere you want to go if you're looking to pick up sound hand-to-hand tactics, but a hell of a show. One of Aria's underbosses was in here one time - as in fighting, not just showing up and looking good. That was memorable."

"Yeah, we're just about perfect - even when things get fucked up, plans within plans!"

The quarian winced back from the railing slightly as one of the vorcha below met an ignominious end, even as the crowd roared.

"I assume the underboss won... These are always deathmatches, huh? I used to catch the Hegemony broadcasts sometimes, always liked the 'gauntlet' matches."

The change of subject wasn't entirely accidental, this time; there was no reason to mention that Jil had been helping cover up their records basically since they'd started heisting. Anybody looking too closely, especially someone with an eidetic memory and a slight grudge, might be able to find traces of tampering, and that just wouldn't be acceptable.

Not that Jil'Korah or Ensemble was sloppy, of course. There were just so many systems in place to prevent people from doing exactly what they did on a semi-regular basis that it wasn't possible to hide every trace.

"Mm. Best to avoid those fuck-ups in the first place."

A waiter approached the table next to them. After a quick "excuse me," Cerastes stood on his right leg and tapped the man on the shoulder, then sat back down and ordered a drink - a gin-tonic, to be precise. For some reason, having enjoyed liquor recreationally for a change had renewed his interest in it, although it was only marginally.

Piss. He hadn't replied to Ana yet; he'd have to get around to it after the evening's affairs.

"... which brings me to the topic at hand," he said, mostly to redirect Jil. "I'm not sure why the quarian was necessary, but we need to clarify the matter of the bill, Ms. Vedral. The original amount we agreed upon is fine, of course, but your act of kindness - which I'm going to assume is aided by ulterior motives for the time being - adds another factor to the account." The white drell leaned back, his gaze wandering over the rail to watch as a vorcha launched itself at the prize fighter. "I am not a man who takes kindly to debts."

"He won, yeah. It was, uh..." Shirin racked her memory for a moment. "Thrakt. The batarian, the one with the scar between his right eyes. And these aren't always to the death, but nobody wants to be seen surrendering. Pride and all that."

She took a moment to watch as Dead Reckoning flailed about wildly. Three vorcha hung off him - it had been four, but the krogan had wrenched one off, hurled him to the pit's gory floor, and stomped him flat.

"Anyway, it's not an act of kindness and you're not in anybody's debt, you idiot," she drawled, extinguishing her cigarette. "I was in yours - you got hurt on my job. Therefore, liability says I'm responsible for that injury.
So I took care of it, and now we're square."

Although she had wanted to give Jil due credit for his role in making sure they stayed out of prison or worse, Shirin quickly caught onto the quarian's motivation. Fair enough; the less they advertised an ace in the hole, the better.

"WHATTAMANEUVER," roared the announcer. Somehow he managed to make the whole phrase one word.

"Thrakt... I don't remember him. That's probably a good thing, means I haven't had to deal with him. Less attention is good."

The maneuver that so excited the announcer was not lost on Jil, even though he had very little understanding of how it had actually happened. All he knew was that suddenly two vorcha didn't have heads and his own three-fingered hands were wrapped around the railing in a kind of death grip.

"You're indebted to me though, Cerastes. I was all nice to you on the ship, and you broke my shit. And you still haven't paid me back for that plushie I got you."

All around the table, money was changing hands yet again. Apparently the patrons had decided who won the fight already, though it was still technically going.

Oh, Jil'korah.

Cerastes fixed the quarian with a deadpan stare, his jaw tightened with annoyance. The fact that Jil's little adventure with the Eidolon had led to Cerastes' ultimate salvation was infuriating to him alone, without any additional nagging from the bucket. The broker forced a joyless smile and raised his tonic to the man across the table in a mock-cheers.

"And here I'd been led to believe that 'get well' gifts were free," he said with a sigh. "You'll have to settle for a beer."

He refocused on Shirin. "While I might owe Jil everything in the world," the sarcasm was biting, "Your stance seems unusual given your typical demeanor, Ms. Vedral. There remains, in addition, if we are going to continue working together - I know your partner, here, would fall apart without the company."

"It's not that unusual."

It was.

"Trust me, even if it had been convenient - and it wasn't - I wouldn't have ignored what you did for me and just snuffed you in return."

It wasn't, but she would have.

"As it is, you're competent. As long as you continue remembering to keep your mouth shut I think we could have a perfectly healthy working relationship. I'm always looking for something new to steal, and you're always looking for credits."

That part was completely true, at least. Shirin leaned back in her chair, savoring a quick swig of her drink as "DEEEEAAAAD REEEECKONIIIIIING" echoed over the club. She had to speak up a bit to be heard over the crowd and the high-pressure hoses, but as always, somehow managed to do that without shouting.

"Not that we need anything in particular at the moment; I've got our next job lined up already."

"I'm not sure about 'everything', but a little recognition would be nice..." muttered the only quarian at the table (or possibly in the room, even - with that realization Jil'Korah perked up and looked around at the crowd, where he was relieved to spot at least two of his own people. Granted, it wasn't the kind of thing normally associated with quarians, but it was nice to see he wasn't the only one who could enjoy a bit of bloodsport now and then.

...and then, as his gaze wandered across the crowd, Jil'Korah's eye fell on the white drell sharing the table and smirking. Smirking!

Ensemble, I have something fun for you to do.
More fun than watching organics tear each other limb from limb?
...I thought you didn't see the point of this.
I do not. That was a joke.
O...kay. Well, if you can take the time away from your busy schedule, trigger our backdoor into the Eidolon. Turn the air conditioning on, full-blast, and just leave it that way. Then go back to whatever you were doing.
I will consider it.

Jil favored the drell with a smirk of his own, which of course Cerastes couldn't see. Wait, was the white drell even smirking? It was hard to tell, and he'd been too distracted by the fight and the crowd and the geth to actually listen to what Cerastes had said.

Well, it was smirk-ish. That'd have to do.

"So, since we're on the topic of money, anybody care to bet on the next fight?"

There was a staredown.

Cerastes versus Shirin, two drell with serious hubris issues. While Jil mused over the ongoing battle downstairs, the two reptilian aliens were busy communicating in some silent, eldritch manner.

"Fine," Cerastes said at length. He seemed to slump a bit in the chair, as though a weight had just fallen off of him. "We're 'square,' then, as you put it - and Jil, if you are going to continuously bitch over a stuffed lizard, I will pay you. Here, what's the amount?" The broker tugged out his wallet and started flipping through his chits. "It must have been exorbitant."

Right in the middle of 'exorbitant,' a severed finger flew up - an amazing arc - and plopped right in the middle of the table. Cerastes acted as though he didn't notice.

"Now Dead Reckoning wants three men," called the ring announcer, "and if he cannot throw each of them in single combat within ten minutes, he will forfeit three thousand credits to each!"

Shirin picked up the severed finger from the center of their table and artfully lobbed it in an arc, sending it back through the grate and into the pit. She narrowly avoided beaning a heavily muscled, grizzled-looking turian as he stepped into the arena, followed by yet another vorcha and a rather nondescript salarian.

"It's Trakim Antonidus! Trakim Antonidus has answered the challenge--"

"I don't usually put money on these things, Jil," the drell replied, eyeing the lineup of challengers, "but if you're gonna text the bookies and place a bet, the smart money is on the salarian."

The salarian, in all honesty, didn't look like any kind of money would be on him. He was positively destitute in appearance, whipcord-thin and sporting a rather intense stare as his only real asset.

"If you want an explanation for that," Shirin continued, setting down her empty glass, "the other two are ringers. They look tough, so Dead Reckoning beats them and he looks totally unstoppable. Everybody bets on him to go all the way, the odds get crazy, and then he throws the fight with the salarian, either by taking a dive or more likely by going the whole ten minutes. And the house collects, big time. So if you're planning on betting, I'd wait until Antonidus goes down so the odds are stacked, and then put some credits on the salarian."

"LET'S GET IT OOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNN---"

"Mind you, that's all speculation."

Jil'Korah was uncharacteristically quiet as Shirin spoke. He was never going to be any kind of even middling martial artist himself - he didn't have the build, inclination, or ability to breathe without assistance that such things typically required. That didn't stop him from appreciating the techniques, however, and he'd seen Shirin fight without ever seeing her lose. She knew her shit, and he'd be an idiot not to listen to her.

"Okay, but the payout will be bigger if I bet right away. Let's see, I've got the bonus from the last job plus the thousand or so creds Cerastes owes me..."

Okay, even if one accepted that Cerastes owed Jil'Korah money, which he really didn't, a thousand credits would be really pushing it.

"Okay, fifteen hundred credits on the salarian. Let's hope you're right, Shirin, or Cer will be out a ton of money."

He'd only actually put 250 credits on the fight, of course.

You appear to have calculated incorrectly. I have corrected your error.
What? What error?
Your stated bet and actual bet did not match.
Yeah, that was... Oh, fuck. You didn't.
You are welcome.

The fight started, and if Jil'Korah had been interested before, now he was positively entranced.

"Yes, that will certainly kill my bank account. Alas."

Cerastes's droning remarks were shortly (and mercifully) drowned by the ensuing fight. Dead Reckoning's battle-roar was enough to shake the rafters above, and, amazingly, instill a brief moment of panic-stricken quiet amongst the crowd - who, immediately after instinct faded away, went wild. Cerastes leaned over the edge of the high-top table and squinted at the combatants: a sizeable turian was now circling Dead Reckoning, who just laughed quietly under his breath.

To Cerastes, the sight brought back memories of his first fight with Shirin. She was smaller than him - not tremendously so, but enough to matter - and she'd almost killed him. His lips thinned as he "hrrrm'd" thoughtfully. Size was a factor, but it wasn't everything in combat.

"Dirty fighting being allowed is also a remarkable factor when betting at this venue," he commented, just as the turian charged Dead Reckoning. "Traditional maneuvers are, well, boring at best, but Carnage throws that out the window - literally, sometimes. Shirin knows a thing or two about fighting dirty - have you ever asked her about her personal style, Mr. vas Azure Wheelbarrow?"

"No reason to ever fight fair."

Shirin watched intently as Antonidas leapt onto Dead Reckoning's hump, raking the krogan's face with his talons (which looked cybernetically enhanced, but it was hard to tell from this distance). DR's little t-rex arms couldn't quite reach far enough to dislodge the turian.

"You can try, but unless you're in...I don't know, combat sports, it's gonna get you killed. Or maimed, or losing resources you could've saved. Either way, I don't duel justicars or hold holiday armistices or keep promises to my enemies, and any inclination to do so was trained out of me a long while back."

She leaned back, waiting to see what the krogan would do. He did not disappoint; with a heave of his mighty bulk, Dead Reckoning crashed backwards into a wall, sandwiching his enemy between himself and so much steel. With Antonidas dislodged, he turned to pummel the turian with roundhouses and headbutts. Yup, ringer.

"Not coincidentally, my track record is pretty decent."

"Hah. I do know a thing or two about not fighting fair. Like, say, crashing someone's ship into the nearest sun by remote for calling me 'Mr Vas Azure Wheelbarrow'."

Acknowledged. Initiating startup procedures.
What? No, no no no no no. That was an idle threat, not a command or request or anything I would probably ever do.
Please be clearer in future.
That would rather defeat the point.

Jil'Korah was getting better at disguising his conversations with the geth; he'd have to, really, since it was a regular thing and could potentially make someone uncomfortable, like speaking a foreign language in front of someone else on purpose. Even if it was completely innocent (which, let's face it, was unlikely at the best of times), it was... well, rude, and while the quarian was many things he, was not rude.

Mostly because he couldn't get away with it. One of the downsides of being surrounded by people who could disembowel you with their bare hands.

"Okay, so far so good, the turian didn't beat him. This is going okay."