Perhaps surprisingly, it was not the mercenaries who stopped Typho in his tracks, but Nisvillia herself. 

A crackling blast of laser, fired from her pistol, hissed through the air, scorching the ground infront of the gambler's feet. He stopped in his tracks, mere-inches from the blast radius. 

"Next time, honey, I won't miss." She assured him darkly, cracking a wicked grin. 

Nisvillia heaved her massive bulk out of her chair, wadding across the room. "If he tries to run again, break his knee caps." She told the mercenaries. "And what am I even paying you all for, if you can't catch some stuck-up ponce?! By the Emperor, the help nowadays is shocking." 

She sighed heavily, her massive stomach oozing out even further, pushing against her already tight dress. 

"I have a contact; a man named Thermatus." Nisvillia addressed Aryon in her usual honeyed-tone "He'll be sure to pay us well for Typho." 

She waddled over to the window, her immense frame blocking out the light which was poking in through its clear glass panels. "I'd have my people cover me, but I need someone here to oversee the Loft. Just because I'm hopping ship dosen't mean I can't keep raking in profits from this place." 

Nisvillia turned back to face Aryon "If you can cover my back, then I'll make sure we both get paid enough to get off of this tin can." 

Once she was sure that Typho was well-guarded, Nisvillia sent one of her people off into the Catwalk, in search of Thermatus. 

"I'll make the trade, but it'll be your job to guard my gorgeously proportioned arse." She told Aryon with a wink.