[@BangoSkank][@Hank][@Guy0fV4lor][@Bright_Ops][@Jamesyco][@Searat]


Even as he had been show-boating, the monocle pressed firmly into his socket had began doing its job; from the moment he had entered it had started formulating data, recording faces and voices, expressions, everything that Livingstone needed to get to know his new entourage. He had decided to turn the targetting reticule off before entering, as he had no desire (yet) so kill any of them. So it was that, in spite of his erratic movements and apparent lack of any focus, Rupert's expression – or decided lack there of, though none could cover all micro- expressions – was well noticed.

“No?” Queried the elderly gentleman then, the bristling moustache flickering from one side of his mouth to the other, before an exasperated breath was drawn out of his mouth, “William,” he chuckled to the straight-faced soldier nearby, “I do believe I found the perfect crew – no questions, no nothing. Indeed, each seems as one ready to propel themselves into the Warp and back for me.”

For a moment he leant on his cane, eyeing each of the rooms occupants with a look of natural inquisitiveness, locking them on to Maxie foremost; there his eyes remained even as he lifted his cane and gave the six-footer a nice jab in the ribs with it.

“You, sir, are clearly inebriated. This would ordinarily be a shooting offence, unless on my say so, but as this is our first meeting I shall let it slide. Do see that it does not happen aboard my vessel, or you may find yourself quite cold in open space without a blanket.”

He passed over Apollyon and Isaiah, noting them mentally nevertheless, going straight to Gustave and once more letting his gaze linger.

“Ah yes, the Bristonian.” Older than those in the room he may have been, but Livingstone missed nothing... Not that the state of the Guardsman was hard to miss, “medals aplenty you may possess, and I am glad of it, but come to me in [b]this[/b] state again and William over there will make sure you understand not to do it again.” After a moment he leant in close enough that only Gustave could hear, “are you not ashamed?” His eyes never left those brown opposites until he turned and strode to where Roald had positioned himself.

“Roald Cliffbloom, is it not?” It was a rhetorical question, of course, and Livingstone did not wait for an answer, “thief... lecher... and Trailblazer.” He gave a smile then, some amusement contained within it, “yes, you remind me well of the Ratlings of Crinatera Fifty-Six.”

Having had his fill of assessing each of his newest acquisitions, for that is most assuredly what they were, and in more ways than one, the Trader returned to the holo-projector.

“Believe me when I tell you gentlemen, I have allowed you all into somewhat of an 'inner circle' – your skills, your talents, I will be needing and will one of these days make use of them all. I will treat you fairly and with respect, and I should hope you will have the common decency to do the same.”

“Nionus Seven-Twelve,” he announced suddenly, the holo image shifting to a floating orb, “this will be our first stop. There we shall stop, resupply, and begin the first stage of a longer journey.”

The world appeared to be one primarily of desert or wasteland, as far as one might see with the naked eye, larger settlements – hives most likely – dotted about the place as it rotated on an axis in front of them, the image flickering and dying nearly as fast as it had appeared.

“Right. Bring yourselves and your possessions to the [i]Pride[/i], and then to the bridge. I shall see you all there once you have found your chambers. Good day.”