"I want his head on a goddamn platter."

Orish's words were slurred, slipping from the side of a bloodied swollen mouth. The Salarian was pressing a dainty bar towel over the grisly wound that marred his once impeccable face, doing little to stop the bleeding as he paced through the yacht's lavish hallways. His Turian partner, strolling leisurely a few steps behind, could only roll his eyes. "Something tells me Luek won't be pleased if we start executing his esteemed party guests..." He said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He'd never really liked Orish; the Salarian was an expert in the world of tech trade, and he couldn't have asked for a more efficient or intelligent business partner...but [i]gods be damned[/i], he was such a twat sometimes! Nathallin could only hope the night's events would knock some sense into the man. He wasn't counting on it. 

"Fuck Luek!" Orish growled, wincing as bits of broken glass dug deeper into his tender flesh, his broken face offering up a fresh surge of dark green blood. "And fuck his fucking guests, too! 'Esteemed' my ass, that fucking human is nothing more than a hired thug! He had [i]no right[/i] to hit me!"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't provoked him, you wouldn't have gotten hurt." Nathallin chided gently, in a tone he only reserved for small children and Orish. His condescension wasn't lost on his partner, who turned to glare at him, eyes full of spite. By then they had reached their destination, a simple metal door that denoted the entrance to the yacht's security room. 

"He'll pay. I'm going to make sure of it." The Salarian's tone was definitive, as if challenging Nathallin to disagree. The older Turian didn't rise to the bait, only raising one eye ridge as he gestured to towards the door. 

"After you, then. Just don't expect me to clean up your mess."

They probably looked quite the sight, barging into that tiny security room: Orish with his bloodstained clothes and marred face, with Nathallin following closely behind, still attempting to hide his amusement and regain an air of professionalism. Needless to say, every eye turned to greet them. Lonnie swiveled in his chair, looking (and feeling) somewhat guilty for no real reason at all. Abrend couldn't help but wince as she caught sight of her boss's new facial feature, covering her initial shock with an unconvincing cough. Even Ret glanced up from his virtual card games, twitching his mandibles as the battered Salarian entered and then straightening slightly in his chair when Nathallin appeared.

Orish didn't return any of their glances. He only had eyes for the two handcuffed humans seated in the middle of the small room. "Who's this then?" He snarled, waving a bloody hand in Roland's direction. "Is he with the other one? Another fucking thug? Should've figured all these fucking humans are working together..."

"What?" Abrend obviously was having difficulty processing everything. "Uh...no, no nothing like that." When Orish gave no sign that he'd even heard her, she turned to address Nathallin. "He's just some straggler I picked up in one of the lower hallways. Says he was looking he was looking for a bathroom. He doesn't seem too dangerous, but I figured it was better to be safe about it." 

Nathallin nodded approvingly. "The less problems we have to deal with tonight, the better. The crowd near the bar was all riled up when I left the lounge. Understandable, I suppose, considering what they just saw. We'll need to get some men out there-"

"Way ahead of you, sir." Abrend smiled, obviously proud of her foresight. "I sent a couple of our reserve sentries to break up the crowd. Shouldn't be a problem."

"No, no, that'll just make things worse," Nathallin answered with a sigh. "This isn't your run of the mill mob. These are 'guests.' Rich pricks and entitled floozies. The last thing we want to do is send guys with guns in there to tell them what they can and can't do. Not to mention how pissed Luek's going to be when he sees us pushing his potential investors around." With another weary sigh, he reopened the door and took one step outside. "I'll go try to mitigate the damage. Abrend, you're with me. Lonnie, Ret, you stay here and keep an eye on everything, we don't want anymore surprises tonight."

"No." Orish was staring daggers down at Mark, but his low, dangerous voice had no trouble being heard. "Ret and Lonnie can go with you. I want to be alone to deal with this...trash." He punctuated his statement with a harsh kick Mark's shin. Ret and Lonnie shared uncertain glances, but otherwise didn't move, waiting for confirmation from Nathallin. Ourish might be their boss, but the grizzled old Turian was the one who usually gave the orders. 

To his credit, Nathallin remained calm even as he asserted control over the situation. "Ret and Lonnie will stay here." He said, in a tone that brokered no argument. "I'm not leaving you alone with two prisoners, especially one that we know is dangerous. You can have your revenge, or whatever the hell you mean to have, but I'm not going to let you be stupid about it."

For a tense moment, the two Quantum bosses locked eyes, one set filled with fury, the other impossibly calm. Then Ourish finally broke his gaze with a frustrated scowl, waving his partner off. "Fine, whatever. As long as I get to take care of our business here." Nathallin and Abrend left the room, the former with a slow, knowing shake of his head. Left to his own devices, Ourish's smoldering stare turned back on Mark. "Go back to your business, you louts," He said, gesturing at Ret and Lonnie over his shoulder. "I'll handle this." The two reluctantly turned their attention back to other matters, occasionally sneaking glances out of the corner of their eyes. 

Ourish leaned in close to Mark, towering over the seated human. A bit of blood dripped off his chin, splattering against the mercenary's breastplate. "Well, well, well, not so tough now, are we?" He leaned in even closer, bringing himself only inches away before spitting into Mark's face. "I'm going to enjoy this." He straightened, rolled up his sleeves, and analyzed his course of attack. And then he drove a backhand across Mark's face.