[@Dead Cruiser][@Lady Selune][@Ollumhammersong]

Peckering had only just gotten back to wiping his dirty glasses when, with footfalls like the tread of a tank, a figure more like an Ogryn than a man approached the bar and demanded as much swill as he could have – and what he paid with would get him a considerable amount. Now the barman was not a small man by any stretch, but this man...[b]this[/b] man...looked like he could dismantle the entire establishment with his bare hands.

“Right you are, sir,” nodded Sebastian, turning away only momentarily to duck low and heft an entire keg from below the bar. In one fluid movement, clearly practised for many years by now, he heaved it onto the bar-top in front of the 'man', pulling a small tap from somewhere else and breaching the keg; for a moment he was hesitant as to whether this being would even need a glass, so in the end he grabbed the largest beer stein he had and placed it beside the keg.

What was contained within the keg was what Sebastian Peckering liked to call his 'medium malt' swill, an entire step above the usual gut-rot but still rough enough that it could likely be used to power a vehicle or strip paint from a wall.

He slid the coins from the bar, and would have returned to his glasses, when the staff-bearing individual made their way into the bar. The sigh that Sebastian let out, even as he kept his eyes on the hulking figure nearby, could probably be heard by most of the patrons in the place.

"Glory to the God-Emperor, may his light continue to shine for a hundred eternities. Amasec, if you wouldn't mind. Something pleasant- that doesn't run the risk of blinding me."

“Glory to Him indeed,” said the barman with a bobbing of his head, figuring that this handsome devil may actually be able to afford something better than slosh, “one moment please.”

Further rustling around revealed one dusty bottle, the label faded but the amber liquid within clearly in good condition, a tumbler fetched alongside it and both placed before the refined newcomer.

“That'll be three Thrones.”

[i]Great...a damned cogboy,[/i] he thought to himself as Octavian wheezed shambled into the Scrotum, watching him with a suspicion born of experience of interactions with the servants of Mars in the past, not really up to serving their kind but not adverse to giving them a place to sit either.

Meanwhile Jakob had been taking notice of every happening, knowing that the arrival of such colourful and out-of-place individuals could be no coincidence; in fact his time in the Guard has taught him very well that there was no such thing as  happenstance anyway. No, they were here for something and he would know what it was.

With a cough to clear his throat, and in his best overly dramatic voice, he gestured to his former subordinate.

“A glass of Gorsk Whyte if you will, Peckering – I could do with a drink to tide me over, you know, before any potential employees arrive! What those Van Malahki bastards gave me should even be able to pay my way off-world. Wouldn't that be something?”

House Van Malahki was one of the largest crime families on the planet – unafraid of authority, fearless of repercussions from other syndicates, and utterly ruthless in their pursuit of domination and power – Jakob Audens was not lying when he claimed that this job could very well make or break a man.