Saga Drinking Hall
Hector Von Ricmore
Respect was an important part of negotiation. People in social interactions liked to know that they were being taken seriously. That their voice, ideas, and presence mattered. A key part of respect was punctuality. Arriving on time showed that one had respect for the schedules and routines of other beings.
His contact was an hour late.
This meeting was off to a fantastic start.
Hector Von Ricmore could afford to leave and blow off the contract entirely. He had paid his dues, working as a bounty hunter and mercenary for Clan Vizsla for years. He had seen horrors beyond what he could have comprehended a few scant years ago. He had embarked on many adventures and greatly enriched himself doing so.
But something kept the serpentine figure from storming out in frustration.
Perhaps it was the hope for a new experience. Something enjoyable and profitable in equal measure.
Perhaps it was the concept of reputation. Hector’s could certainly survive if he left the contract holder waiting. It would serve the sentient right for his failed punctionality. But it was an unnecessary hit to the Serpent’s reputation all the same. Especially when he had time to waste in the meeting hall.
Saga was a drinking hall. And that was something he was capable of doing.
He had begun with indulging in a single fluorescent deathstick. The opioid did wonders to numb not only past injuries, but to weaken his connection to the Force. Quieting the mental screams from the non stop conflict across the galaxy was something that he appreciated doing from time to time. And it allowed for indulging in Saga’s namesake without the Force to easily filter the liquids consumed.
Next had been the consumption of two glasses of Corellian whisky on the rocks, with a bit of Meiloorun bitters.
After that he had been content to wait for his contact, who still had yet to so much as send a message containing the information that he would be late.
Taking out a data pad, he inserted a pair of small headphones into his ears. They soon filled with the sound of music; a rock ballad of the courage employed by the mythical Lord Hoth and his Army of Light.
Hector read over the data pad. Shipping manifests for the last month were checked and re-checked. Purchases approved and reviewed. He then moved on to matters of mentorship. His new recruits to the Brotherhood had hit the ground running; they were already making a name for themselves in the Grand Masters Royal Guard. They always needed more capable individuals in that department; so it was a pleasing report to read.
His contact still had not arrived.
The situation had become irritating. Three hours late without so much as a message was far more than a social faux pas. But the opportunity was too good to pass up. And he could wait a few more hours yet.
Grumbling to himself about the frustrating situation; Hector vowed to make a trip to his bath-house after this was all over. He would need to de-stress from such an aggravating meeting.