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Jocaira rolls her eyes. "Oh even bettair. Se Madame sinks sat I take advantage of boys when sey are drunk. Evil, evil Joca, can't get any boys so she -preys- upon se incapacitated." She makes a gesture generally associated with male self-amusement. She, for what it is worth, is sitting on the reception desk wearing a bedsheet draped around her body. Micky is sitting at the desk proper with his boots off and some toenail clippers/clippings on the desk. It appears to be after business hours; while the lights are on in the office proper the lights in the reception area have been dimmed.
"Kinda snooty," says Micky with a what can you do sort of shrug. He slips his feet into his unlaced boots and collects the most obvious of the toenails while he continues talking, "I'll see what sort of deal I can work out with the other robo-geek option if you don't want to work that angle, boss." The toenails, for those who are interested, get put into a pocket.
Ken Pennebaker wanders into the lobby of Red Eclipse, a leather-ish suitcase in one hand and a PDA in the other, while he gawks around with his mouth hanging open. He doesn't seem to be entirely aware of where his footsteps are taking him until it's too late and his gaze settles on the sheet-draped woman and the nail-picker. "Ah," he manages.
"Psh we can try Danu first. Sey 'ave always made good arrangement for us even sough she doesn't like any of it. Mademoiselle Vessa made sure of it. No idea where sat damn woman got off to but ehn. Se rest of the Council 'as always been agreeable. Even 'er wis all of 'er snoo--" Joca trails off as the newcomer comes gawking in, turning partially to peer at the man. "...yes? Can we 'elp you wis somesing?"
Micky's hand remains in his pocket for the time being, and he leans a bit further back in his seat, making himself look even sloppier. He seems to be ok with this.
Ken Pennebaker frowns, reaching up with his PDA to try to scratch at the back of his head - a nervous tic, perhaps, complicated by his accessorization. "Just..." He decides the PDA might be good for something other than bumping against his skull and looks at the display. "Lodging?" His gaze shifts toward one of the dimmed lights. "New on-station."
Jocaira purses her lips. "I sink per'aps you 'ave taken se wrong turn, Monsieur," she says, making a negligent gesture whilst swinging one leg lazily. "You rifter or just making a travel?"
"Either way, you can probably crash in the em-are-oh shelter on this deck," Micky supplies as the hand comes out of his pocket. "Ain't any free lunches, though, so you'd have to put some work in. Clean, teach new rifters, whatever."
Ken Pennebaker finds an interesting pattern on the floor near his right foot to study. "Traveling. Would certainly like to talk to some...rifters, you call them?..." He shrugs. "Anyway. Yes." He looks toward Micky and gives a nod. "MRO? That's the, erm, hostel-ish thing I remember from Standish's briefing. Very well. Yes." He waves the PDA like a plastic and silicon flag of surrender. "As you were, then. Many thanks!" He turns to leave, bumping his suitcase against the door frame.
Jocaira titters softly. "We 'ave a -lot- of rifters 'ere, Monsieur. Fighting men and women from many diffairent times and places." She gestures between herself and Micky. "Us two... sat guy over sere in se mess..." She gestures at Rennie, who is apparently busily raiding a fridge in the dining area. "What you want to talk to rifters about, ehn?"
"Very narrow area of expertise," notes Micky as he gets up from his chair to better be able to pull a flask out of his back pocket. "Well, some of us. I like to think of myself as a Renaissance man. Master of the universe type." He nods sagely before he takes a drink that leaves him watery eyed, red faced, and coughing. "An informed individual."
Ken Pennebaker pauses in the doorway, turning to look somewhere over Jocaira's head. "Hmm? Ah! This place." He gestures expansively, banging the suitcase against the wall. Blushing, he lowers his arms and furrows his brow. Suddenly, the light controls demand his attention. "A documentary. Many stories waiting to be told." He regards Micky with a nod. "Informed is good. I could use some pointers. Where to go. Who to talk to. Even if it's dangerous." He tilts his head as he considers. "Especially if it's dangerous." A faint grin. "Anyway. I used to think jumper shuttle lag between Europe and North America was bad. This trans-universal business is a killer. If I could trouble you later, I would appreciate your advice."
"Oo oo for se 'olograph shows? I was on se news once!" Joca perks up, clapping her hands and causing the numerous rings on her fingers to clack together. "I like making interview! I am from eighteen centurie Earth France," she says, as though the accent wasn't thick enough to be a dead giveaway even to people and/or species who have never actually heard of France. "And if you want to go dangerous places? Well. We 'ave many mercenaire 'ere who can 'elp you wis sis, ne? It will be like making two birds in a bush. You get to talk to rifters and go to more places wis usser rifters. Fee scale is negotiable."
"This is how I'm goin' to launch my music mogul career," declares Micky before he takes his flask, toenail clippings, and whatever else it is he's smuggling under his jacket off to the barracks. "Stardom, here I come. Multi-verse fame and riches await." He gives everybody a preview of what's to come with some crooning that has probably been outlawed in several countries already, "You know I can be found...if you don't come around...please telephoooooooooooooone."
Ken Pennebaker coughs into his shirt sleeve. "And me without my recording equipment." His eyebrows lift. "Should arrive by freighter tomorrow with the crew." He waves the PDA again at Micky and Jocaira. "My name is Ken Pennebaker. If you can prepare a fee scale with services and expenses, I would certainly appreciate it. Starship charters, protective details...that sort of thing." He gives the rough approximation of a bow. "Until next time."
Jocaira looks like she's about to reach down her front for a contact chip and then realizes that she's currently draped in a bedsheet, in that artful sort of way that females of many species seem to be innately capable of arranging. She is looking in the direction of Micky's exit with an expression somewhere between utter bafflement and tired acceptance. "But yes," she finally manages to say. "You come by office tomorrow, ne, while we are open? I will get some crew togeser for you to meet and will scan our contacts for available vessels. Se shelter is just around se corner. Do not go too deep into se whale, sere are dangerous parts even 'ere, ne?"