[center][h2]Hoedown at Hafez’s - Part 3[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/kGNESM7.jpg[/img][/center] JP/collab from [@Aalakrys], [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695] As the music faded and Penelope rose from their rather dramatic dip, Hafez Nadal applauded, forceful clapping that cued those in attendance to follow suit. “My friends!” he swept toward the pair. [i]”Sayidi,”[/i] their host grinned broadly as he shook Cal’s hand before swiftly moving to drink in the sight of Pen. [i]”Habibti,”[/i] Nadal’s voice took a gentle tone as his left hand touched her right shoulder. “Graceful bird. You have been missed.” Penelope's warm smile radiated at seeing her old friend, her hand briefly meeting the one on her shoulder. She agreed easily, with a gentle squeeze to his hand. "It has been too long. Thank you for not only seeing we got settled in okay, but also inviting us to this party." The host offered a courteous half bow. “You bring light to any room,” his smile was open and warm as he took a seat with them. “Captain, I congratulate you for your insight. Penelope is a rare creature. To recognize her wings speaks well of your own gifts.” [i]A rare creature, indeed,[/i] Cal thought to himself. He couldn’t contest the fact, and considering how she’d just cut the line on the millstone around his neck, he found himself nodding along to Nadal’s pronouncement. “She grows on you after a while, then she keeps knittin’ you mittens–well, I haven’t earned a pair yet.” His brow shot up in her direction to get a bright smile in return before she bit into a bird-shaped vegetable, then returned to Hafez. “If it weren’t for her, I’d have to eat crow. And if it weren’t for you, well,” he scooped the bottle of guava wine from beneath the table to present to Nadal, “Thanks.” It felt awkward, giving a man who obviously had everything he could ever desire, a gift as banal as wine from his own homeworld, but Cal didn’t falter. Hafez accepted the bottle with both hands and a gracious nod. “You honor me,” his smile did not waver as he examined the label. “Such a vintage tastes all the sweeter when enjoyed with friends.” Nadal lifted two slender fingers, a signal promptly answered by a member of the house wait staff. “Please have the sommelier prepare this. My guests and I shall enjoy it in my office.” “Very good, sir.” The waiter took the bottle, draping it in a hand towel as he hastened toward the kitchen. “Please,” their host gestured toward their plates. “Enjoy your food. My grandfather founded this place. It would bring him joy to see you eat your fill. ‘Full tables, full bellies, loud belches,’ he used to say.” Nadal grinned at the memory. “The man could belch.” Cal nodded, he had a feeling he’d get along with grandfather Nadal, though he might contest the man’s prowess at belching–considering Rex’s penchant. His fork moved ambitiously to the line that decorated his own plate as his eye followed Nadal’s gaze. He’d certainly worked up an appetite on the dance floor, after all. Being the light eater she was, Penelope had already reached the limit of what her fill could be, even with all her homeworld delicacies and artistic renderings of finger foods representing the local splendor. Still, she nibbled and nodded along, not knowing the next time she’d have the opportunity and not wanting to pass it up after longing for it. The two men were looking out at the dance floor, so her eyes followed to see it sadly lacking even after their efforts. Though she wasn’t bothered none - she’d enjoyed herself in the process. “Look at them,” the cafe proprietor’s smile dimmed at sight of the two clusters of teens. “At my fourteenth, I wasn’t going to be happy until I’d danced with every girl. Now,” he offered a rueful shake of his head, “they slump over their cortexes…like two pots full of dying weeds. My apologies,” Hafez placed a hand upon his heart. “The incoherent ramblings of a childless uncle. What business have I to bemoan the choices of our youngsters?” “Reminds me of a ‘youngster’ I know. Just turned eighteen, matter-of-fact. Kid’s glued to her cortex; always taking pictures when she thinks no one’s watching. The ‘Verse keeps on spinnin’,” Cal offered by way of platitude, fork soon to follow. Penelope gave her captain a side-long glance at the way he so casually made Abby sound like a typical teenager when she was anything but. There was a chiding coming his way. “Aw, Cap’n, that ain’t fair at all - she’s the hardest worker aboard, just a bit smitten, is all.” “She’s certainly that,” he took a moment to finish the bite in his mouth before replying further. “Abigail’s the hardest workin’ deck I’ve seen aboard the Doll, hands down. I’m merely commiserating with Mr. Nadal insofar as that thing’s glued to her hand more often than the mop.” He watched Pen’s face and added preemptively, “All’s fair in love and chores.” Taking note of plates soon to be emptied, their host offered, “I’ve learned that sometimes a pause can aid the digestion. We might put that time to good use by discussing a bit of business?” Captain Strand wiped his mouth on his napkin, having finished the morsels in descending order of ‘things-I-can-suss’ to ‘things-I-ain’t-never-laid-eyes-on.’ Contentedly, he nodded at Nadal’s sentiment, “I believe we’ve ‘danced’ around the subject, some.” Oh, that meant they were moving, Penelope realized as the two men stood. She sat aside the napkin she’d used to wipe her fingers on, making to follow suit. It was time to find out just how well they knew these steps. It left her slightly anxious, being involved in something again. For the last year or so, she’d flown an honest trade ship port to port. No bargaining, no questions, just a destination, one after the other. Participating in the likes of Hafez Nadal’s business ventures had not worked well for her in the past, though this time her captain was making sure she was in the know. It was much appreciated. After courteously pulling Penelope’s chair as she rose, Hafez led his guests through the cafe’s dining room. There were a few stops as their host was set upon by party guests who chose to gush their gratitude, or to make apologies for a hasty exit. He took it all with the practiced aplomb of a man well accustomed to owning the room. “Apologies, friends,” he whispered as they were shown to a service corridor. “This way, please.” The office was well appointed, but not to gaudy excess. Hafez showed them to a pair of comfortable chairs perched before a burnished cypress desk. “A beautiful piece, no?” he asked. “Penelope, you’ll remember Aziz, the groundskeeper at my place? He built this from trees we had to clear for an outbuilding.” Ever the aficionado of repurposing and the natural world, Penelope was enamored with the new life the groundskeeper had given the tree at Hafez’s introduction to the desk. She gently ran a hand over the edge in appreciation as she moved to her seat, looking over the decorative work inlaid in the front panel as she sat. “Aziz always did have a respectful eye for his work. He’s the one that taught me some woodworking.” The last she’d said to Cal, easily falling into a conversational frame of mind that tended to happen when around the affable Hafez Nadal. “Didn’t know you worked wood,” Cal said, chin upturned as he laid a smoothing hand on the cypress. To his delight, his palm glided over the varnish as he followed the grain. “Hell, first no mittens, now no finely crafted wooden furniture? What’s a Captain gotta do?” Cal sent a sidelong glance toward Hafez. Perhaps he was being too passionate, but he was in a good mood, all thanks to his companions. “Ya didn’t want shimmer - can’t limit a girl’s creative freedom and then fuss about how long its takin’ to make ya somethin’.” Likely the dancing spirit was still in her as Penelope was more lively than usual, easily teasing back with a little more life to her soft manner. “‘Sides, ya won’t be needin’ no mittens down at the lagoon or anywhere else on Greenleaf for that matter, Cap’n.” “I could provide a few planks with our shipment,” Nadal offered. “Now that you mention it,I do seem to recall one or two occasions in which Penelope brought the scent of fresh sawdust to the dining table…but forgive my rambling,” he apologized. “To business. To put it bluntly, Captain Strand, I’ve a shipment due on Osiris, and am in need of a reliable captain…one who understands the value of discretion.” That brought sobriety to the Captain’s mood. Straight to the point; Cal appreciated that, at least. He tugged his chin downard as his mind ran through the possible scenarios. Thanks to Penelope, he had an idea of what Hafez Nadal may need to move. It’s always better to ask questions you already know the answer to: “And what sort of shipment might require such discretion?” His tone had changed to one of business. One that maintained the charade that this request could be refused. “Pharmaceuticals.” At his answer, Penelope’s easy smile faded as her eyes turned on Hafez. It had been like ice water was dumped on her, and she didn’t like the sensation one bit. Her natural brow ruffled, concern not common found in her smooth features etching her forehead with worry. There wasn’t accusation, or even hesitation, as she asked the obvious question: “What kind of pharmaceuticals?” Hafez laughed. “The best sort,” he grinned. “Vanity drugs for the semi wealthy and socially insecure. Weight loss tablets, teeth whiteners, hair growth ointments, and every concoction one might imagine to enhance sexuality. First World problems, one might say?” This answer cleared away the worry, at least from Penelope’s face, the rest would follow soon. Harmless, except in all the ways it was likely illegal and why her old beneficiary wanted discretion. In response, she hummed as she relaxed back from the position she’d unknowingly taken up - reclining into the chair once more. “It is true,” their host nodded, “that these products are ‘off the books,’ but if one plies the trade with discretion, the gendarmes are not inclined to look twice. Pharmaceutical companies are required to run their production in preassigned lots which are then registered with the Alliance. However, a typical production run of any drug includes a small surplus to offset imperfections and packaging errors. When a lot is declared ‘complete,’ the surplus is then to be…disposed of.” Nadal chuckled. “We’re only too glad to render this service, and to offer these remedies to our known distributors. And that, Dear Captain, is where you come in.” Cal leaned forward, “Alright.” Strand glanced at the desk again as he asked, “How much do you need to move?” If he were going in, might as well go in with his eyes open. At least Nadal was being moderately forthcoming. “Twelve pallets, all contents sealed and shrink wrapped. Your manifest will read ‘non prescription medications,’ which affords you plausible deniability in the worst case scenario. Now then, as to the matter of your fee.” Hafez sipped from his glass, and with a contented smile, continued. “Standard charter rate, or do you have another figure in mind?” It seemed Hafez wasn’t interested in turning the screw, which caused Cal’s eyes to narrow. Standard fare would see to the ship fueled, the crew fed, and walking around money. Hell, Hafez, on Pen’s good name, had just saved him from eating a huge loss. The deal was fair. “Standard fare ought to do.” The proprietor nodded. “As to a timetable, I can have the cargo delivered the day after tomorrow. Say ten o’clock in the morning?” “Suits me. I’ll have my men waitin’ to load it up.” Cal’s eye met Penelope’s for a moment. If she felt good about the deal, then so did he. His hand moved to his cortex, a couple lines of marching orders tapped out to the deckhand of the hour. Penelope turned her ever-open gaze on Hafez at the unspoken final check for indemnity from her captain, the levity from earlier tucked away while business was being conducted and coming to its conclusion. He knew how deep betrayal could wound her, and though his line of work was fueled by deceit, she felt trust that he would not put the job at risk by hiding any ‘trivial details.’ Not when she was the pilot, and he’d done so much to keep her free. The warmth of her smile was reflected in her voice, meant as an assurance to her captain and gratitude for the trust she was able to still have in people thanks to the man she was looking at as she spoke. “Thank you, again, Hafez.” “Then we are in accord. [i]Tama!”[/i] Hafez offered his hand to the captain. After a firm shake, he repeated the gesture with the pilot, as a subtle knock announced the arrival of the cafe’s sommelier. She was a slight woman of olive skin and dark eyes who balanced a serving tray with practiced ease. “Ah, Djamilah!” the proprietor waved her into the office. “Impeccable timing, as usual. Please, please! Set that down on the desk.” “Of course, sir.” The gift bottle now beaded up a mild sweat from its’ rapidfire chilling. The sommelier poured a small amount into one flute, then handed it to Nadal for approval. He held it aloft, noting the color and the clarity from impurities or bits of cork. “A rich amber,” Hafez observed before his sampling taste. With an approving nod, he returned the little vessel. “It is good.” The nod given, she poured, filling each of the three flutes, which Hafez was only too happy to hand to his guests. “Permit me to offer a toast?” he asked. Captain Strand accepted the glass with his calloused hands. “Surely.” Business behind him, a subtle smirk returned to his lips. His pilot nodded thanks as she received her own and turned her gaze back to their host, pleasantly expectant. Hafez lifted his glass. “To friends, old and new. May we find good fortune in both business and pleasure.” “Fi sihatik,” Pen said with a grin over her glass before enjoying the taste of something new.