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Down to Business

Posted on Sun Jul 14th, 2013 @ 12:56pm by Commodore Joe Rhimer & Lieutenant Commander Ileana Cortez

Mission: Rules of Acquisition
Location: Ferenginar - Landing Platform

Joe stepped off of the boarding ramp, narrowing his eyes against the setting Ferengi sun as he lit a cigarette in his mouth and took a drag. Generally horrible habit, but it was something to further separate Joe Rhimer from Cav Lanklin. He could see a delegation of Ferengi - complete with the beautiful women they'd been promised - approaching quickly, all saccharine smiles and pleasantries.

"I ever tell you I hate dealing with Ferengi?" Joe casually whispered to Ila as they awaited the welcoming party.

"I wholeheartedly echo that sentiment," Cortez growled through clenched teeth. She walked alongside Rhimer as a carelessly defiant figure, her eyes scanning the entourage critically as if trying to sum up potential threats.

"Most glorious and profitable guests, welcome to Ferenginar!" The weaselly looking Ferengi in the front of the entourage said. "I trust your... ahem... landing fees are available at this time?"

"There are no landing fees," Joe replied flatly.

"Why... why, yes. Of course there are. Why... did our controllers forget to tell you that?" He asked, his tone almost sickeningly sweet.

"Rule of Acquisition three-hundred and sixty-two, 'If you didn't mention the fee before, I'm not obligated to pay it.' There are no landing fees." Joe replied flatly.

The Ferengi's face fell - only slightly but it was noticeable, "Oh, good... you know the rules. Wonderful. Then you'll be fine on our planet," He said, his tone dry and deflated.

"Don't worry chuckles," Cortez cooed to the crestfallen Ferengi, "You can still pour over the cargo manifest in a search for taxable offenses. Consider it a challenge from the poker-faced Captain Lanklin."

"You'll have a hard time. We're just simple materials traders looking to offload some raw Duranium ore," Joe replied. "It's all nice and on the up and up. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go and find some Ale," Joe replied, patting the ferengi on the shoulder as Ila jammed the cargo manifest into his chest.

Ila rolled her eyes dramatically. "Uh huh.. If I were you, I'd lock up your daughters. He's a royal pain in the ass. Don't forget that part of the title."

"It's a good title," Joe said with a chuckle as Ila fell into step beside him. "I've worked hard to earn it, especially the pain in the ass part."

The two of them continued their walk from the landing bay silently, casually through customs and out into the crowded streets. Joe's pockets were lighter several hundred gold pressed bars of latinum, but it was worth it to ensure that the duffel carrying his Marine team's gear was allowed to pass through customs untouched. After the last bar of latinum pressed into the last tan fleshed hand, the customs officers were suddenly all too understanding that he simply had allergies and the five foot duffel was the equipment he needed to carry- medically necessary, you see- to function on a normal level.

As they weaved through the crowd, Joe checked signs for the side road they needed to duck down, "There we go. Hang a left up ahead, we'll be at the DZ one quarter mile down that road," He explained.

Ila nodded as she 'gently' redirected the beggar that had attempted no less than three times to sell the captain designer pheromone massage oils no matter how many times he said no with a quick elbow to the ribs. "Take a hike, buddy.." she growled through gritted teeth. "He doesn't need any help with the ladies."

Joe chuckled as they turned down the alleyway, "I'll take that as a compliment," He said, giving her his best roguish grin. The alley the two of them walked down was as nondescript as they come, which ironically stood out on Ferenginar where everything was the height of ostentatious and gaudy.

A quarter-klik down the alley, Joe made a show of frowning and scuffing the bottom of his boot on the ground, then looking at the bottom of it with disgust. To any observers, he was just another unfortunate soul that had found the fecal remains of some unknown animal with his boot. In actuality, he was very discretely checking to see if they were being watched by any prying eyes.

Thankfully, the recon they'd found for this particular alleyway was solid (SFI had their uses from time to time, bless 'em), and there was a long stretch at an awkward angle that left them out of sight of anyone who might want to cause them trouble.

Still in character, Joe dropped the duffel that discretely contained their Marine's supplies just out of sight. He made a big show of scraping his foot off angrily on the curb (damn that phantom dog poo) and threw his hands up in disgust, "Just figured, don't it? Can't wear these boots to the appointment," He blustered to Ila.

"Come on," He said, charging forward angrily. To anyone nearby, he was just a poor, forgetful tourist, forgetting his bag. Anyone brave enough to profit from the bags contents would be greeted with a hefty shock on trying to open it, which should be just enough to satisfy rule of acquisition two-hundred and ninty-eight, "Pain isn't profit."

Once they'd merged there way back into the main crown on the other side of the long alleyway, a smile crept its way onto Joe's face, "I miss this kind of shit, you know it?" He said to Ila with a chuckle as they walked.

 

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