'I'd like to order another bottle of wine. Your best again, if you don't mind.'

'I hate to be rude, sir, but you've already ordered and drunk two such bottles without any food to accompany them. Are you sure you wouldn't like at least a starter to go with-'

'But I haven't had enough yet. How can I expect to enjoy myself without an appropriate amount of wine to treat myself upon?'

'Ah... with all due respect-'

The hooded man's cold, colourless gaze fell upon the unfortunate waiter with the most momentary, millimeter-scale [i]snkt[/i] of metal shifting over itself, silencing him before the inevitable warning could emerge. Seconds passed, and though the restaurant was quite warm, a fell chill settled upon the young man's shoulders, as though some ethereal spectre was passing through him. Not a moment later, a second [i]snkt[/i] made itself known, and the Navigator repeated his request. This time, the waiter left without complaint.

With his order made, Galga'roth returned to his depressive brooding. It was rare of him to engage in any other meaningful activities nowadays; many high-class restaurants (and some less classy establishments to boot) knew him as a regular customer, if only of their better alcohols, and only the newest of waiters nowadays dared question him about his presence, of what exactly he was drowning and why.

[i]Four and a half years,[/i] he thought to himself. [i]I've been stuck in this Emperor-damned place for four and a half years now. Give or take a couple hundred yearfractions.[/i] He'd long since taken to counting the passage of time in only the most vague of terms, in part as a coping mechanism for ensuring he didn't go completely stir-crazy. There was, after all, only so much to do in a city of this size, and travel to other cities on the landmass might be facilitated only when he finally decided to up stakes, likely with little to no benefit to the available sights. In other words, he was in a rut, and it required quite copious amounts of alcohol to let him forget that fact.

As the Navigator's third bottle of wine was presented to him and opened accordingly, he found himself drawn to the gossip of another table, one containing two women in local dress with local accents. Rarely did such gossip actually interest him, but for starters, it was one of the louder tables near to him, and as a main course, they were discussing rumours about a rogue trader. Focusing in on their conversation, he tapped the waiter's side as he started to walk off, encouraging the man to remain as Galga'roth listened in:

'Ah dare say, that is a [i]might[/i]y impressive tale ah'm hearin', Jianne! Y'all're sure he's headin' fer Nab's Holdout, then?'

'Well, of [i]course[/i] ah'm sure. When have ah ever been wrong, Mariah?'

'Ah mean, there was that time with the haunted doll house, the time with the giant sandsnake, the time with the fire-'

'Aaaalright, no need ta embellish... [i]aside[/i] from the times ah was wrong, when have ah been wrong?'

'Well, don't that just limit mah options...'

'No need ta be snippy with me, Mariah, I've got this from good sources, ya know!'

'Like that hunk Dwight Hennson?'

'Hah, ah [i]wish.[/i] He [i]is[/i] very attractive, though...'

It was about this time that Galga'roth's patience wore out, and another slight [i]snkt[/i] might have been heard to those listening out for it. For the second time in as many minutes, he scanned the souls of his targets, seeking the knowledge he needed in the very fabric of their being where before he had merely been snooping for the sake of dissuasion. However, it seemed that Jianne had no relevant information beyond "I heard there was a rogue trader coming to Nab's Holdout", and Mariah even less than this. Nothing he hadn't already heard from them.

He had intended to return to his state of despair either way, but something in him, some drunk and irrational part of his mind, decided now was the time to react poorly to this despondence. [i]Why not give it a try?[/i] it said to him through a bleary, boozy haze. [i]You only need one success to get back in the game, and even if this isn't the one, there's always the next time, and the next time, and the next time...[/i]

He was quite sure this sudden determination would vanish as quickly as his hangover arrived, but nevertheless, he stood up, screwing the cap back on to the wine bottle and making to leave with it, only to cease abruptly when the waiter reminded him that he needed to pay for what he'd bought. After a moment's thought, he put the bottle on the table, retrieved his wallet, and drew a couple of crumpled notes from it, pushing them into the waiter's hands. When told, as he put the wallet away again, that this was far more money than what his purchases were worth, he waved back dismissively at the waiter, told him to keep the change, then grabbed the third bottle and left the establishment, stumbling more than once on his way out.

Everyone in the city knew where Nab's Holdout was, and it could be easily navigated to even in a state of moderate drunkenness. Named after a famous outlaw, supposedly, and from what Galga'roth had seen of it, undeservingly famous for the quality of sustenance it provided. Nevertheless, on the off-chance that a rogue trader really had made planetfall, little miss Jianne would likely be right: it was the most likely place for any offworlder to turn up, especially if they were looking to hire locals for their line of work. If he was lucky, this "rogue trader" would turn out instead to be an Inquisitor, or better yet one of the fabled Space Marine chapters, seeking only the best of pilots to... who was he kidding? If he was lucky, the rogue trader would [i]exist,[/i] period. Sighing, he began to trudge to the holdout in question, before he changed his mind about the whole thing.