"You never returned my last Norgrud Day card."

Of the many lovely things in Omus Vol's possession, those Battarian turrets were a real masterpiece. Say what you would about the volus, he knew his weapons--the pair of them were perfectly calibrated, with some of the most advanced targeting systems available outside of an SA starship. Well weighted, designed to punch through an Atlas mech without batting an eye, the whirling quad-mounted mass drivers were ready to mow down a small army and stonewalled by the kind of biometrics system that even [i]Zik[/i] hadn't been able to hack into. To be staring down the barrels of them (again) was not high on Zik's list of sought-after experiences.

Outsmarting them, and the wannabe crime-lord that owned them, was.

The waggling of his ridges continued, unable to keep his tone contrite as he padded his way forward. A slight hand motion to the team--[i]hang on, hang on[/i]--had the side-effect of showcasing the pistol planted firmly at his hip and away from his hand. Like a street performing making it obvious there was nothing up his sleeve. As he stepped forward along the crimson crushed velvet, the whine of the turrets following him was poignant. Zik always enjoyed performance under pressure.

"Rude of you. But I'm really here to do you a favor, Omus, and get you out of here while the getting's still good. They're onto your little charade... Miss Short." He trailed off dramatically and, pointedly, slid his eyes [i]not[/i] to the Crime Lord, but to his erstwhile personal assistant. She would probably be considered an attractive human, by human standards--Volus typically made sure his assistance were, either thanks to some latent xenophilia or a simple appreciation for the effect that the finer things can have on clients. Zik would have bet on the latter, though the former was much more entertaining.

"Don't try to deny it!" Zik said quickly, raising a three-fingered hand with dramatic speed to interrupt what was sure to be a dropped jaw or a stuttered response--his eyes closed, long-suffering and exasperated. "Well played, trying to pin the blame on poor Omus, but we both know that Omus Vol is a creature of [b]integrity.[/b]" His eyes opened, this time pointing directly to the cameras surveying the office. The same ones that could, conceivably (and actually) hide any number of piggy-backed remote record programs--he nodded his head to them in case the idea wasn't clear enough.

He dared further, making his way up to the platform proper amidst the shocked silence and huffing, hissing gaseous noises emitted by Omus' suit. The turrets followed him, almost warily, but he had his hands up diplomatically. "He would [b]never[/b] do something as foolish as set up a plan to cross Aria T'Loak, and [b]absolutely[/b] not by stockpiling arms taken out of the his best shipments to place into the hands of mercenaries. Clever of you, balancing the right mixture of ambitious, foolish, and dangerous--it might well have been a real threat."

Omus would be getting restless. It was all him, of course, and he'd want the credit. Zik would, he guessed, have to be less subtle--especially to keep the young lady from speaking up. He stepped around the massive desk to the chair on the other side and laid a hand, slowly enough not to excite the aggression-sensors on the alarmingly-close turrets, on Omus' shoulder.

"But the jig, as they say, is up. T'Loak is on to your little game," he said pointedly, waggling a finger to her in properly nannying reprimand, "and I'm not about to let you drag my [b]best friend[/b] Omus Vol's name through the mud! I'm taking him away, before Aria's Talons get here to seize all of his hard work, because he had the misfortune of trusting such a lovely and deceptively cunning individual such as yourself." Turning to look at her above Vol's head, away from the cameras, he couldn't resist himself a cheeky wink.

Poor thing.

"And not just I!" His hand shot up fast enough to make the turrets whirl, one finger pointed dramatically to the air as he strutted forward off the volus' miniature throne once more. "No, Omus, after everything you've done for us all, not [b]one[/b] of your good friends the Dashers could let you be thrown to the varren over a slight such as this. With our Captain back and negotiations with Aria herself already underway," he said pointedly, extending a hand gamely towards the arms dealer, "I'd say this is as good a chance as any for you to get out of this before you find yourself sunk for good. And if it happens to give Miss Short a heads up that T'Loak is wise to her schemes, well..." He shrugged, sighed.

"I suppose that's the price one has to pay."

Would he buy it? By all accounts it was straight ham, the kind of over-the-top performance that was at best comic and at worst ridiculous. It was as much a farce for the rest of the Dashers as it was a ploy to bring Omus Vol back into the mix, an obvious show, but would the crime lord actually play along?

The portrait of himself at the head of a charge--painted as if he might actually have been in the same solar system--made him feel better about his odds.