The bar was empty apart from the bartender, which had spurred Ress into doing inventory. It was better to get it done now, while the Dutchman was still close enough to New Ferenginar for them to purchase whatever the previous stock had failed to provide, or whatever someone had decided to help themselves to before it reached the shelves. Bartending had not been Ress’s primary focus in the past, but aboard a ship it would be their main job. Wherever they docked, orbited or landed could become something else after that. A place to transfer information. Obtain it. Trade it for something more useful than credits, if the buyer was interesting enough. Small things, mostly. They had done well enough over the last ten years, building a steady reputation as an information broker without ever becoming big enough to attract the wrong kind of attention. It was a balance. Survival always was.
They leant against the counter with one hip against the shelving, PADD in hand and teeth resting against their lower lip as they worked down the list. Their black hair had fallen half across the dark metal around their left eye, leaving the cybernetic iris to catch a muted purple reflection in the glass whenever they moved. Terran whisky, Andorian brandy, Bajoran springwine, three bottles of Karemman spice-liquor that smelled faintly of fruit, pepper and poor impulse control, and a clay-stoppered flask of T-Rogoran marrow-spirit with a warning label in three languages Ress did not know and immediately respected. Poison, in their opinion, always tasted best when it was slow, expensive and able to make someone sentimental before it ruined them.
The itch behind their cybernetic eye came then, thin and mean, tucked too far back for touching the metal around the socket to do anything useful. Ress paused for half a second, jaw tightening as the purple iris gave a faint pulse in the bottle-glass reflection, then pushed it aside with the rest of the rubbish they did not have time for. The numbers on the PADD still did not match the bottles in the crate. Ress looked from one to the other, teeth pressing a little harder into their lower lip, amusement sharpening their face as they made a neat note beside the missing Karemman spice-liquor. Most likely swiped en route to the bar, or whoever had kept the inventory before them had possessed a generous relationship with accuracy. Either way, it was what it was.
Even having left her "base of operations" behind, information still flowed to Tiraa as freely as water. There had been something about the name that had sounded familiar, and a simple ask had provided her with the information she had needed. She had been immediately intrigued. Ress had enough of a reputation that their presence concerned Tiraa, so she decided to see for herself whether or not this was a problem that needed to be addressed or not. She certainly couldn’t have her plans being interfered with before they had even begun, and that also included protecting Zedd from himself and his questionable choices. She entered the empty bar and immediately found her quarry simply doing their job - stocking most likely.
She swept forward without delay, determined but not hostile. “Have anything good back there?”
Ress finished filling in the order before they looked up, the PADD still held loosely in one henna-marked hand. Something in them tightened at the sight of green skin, quick and old and deeply irritating, because apparently the body liked keeping records even when the mind had better things to do. They took a slow breath and pushed it aside. They were over it, in the same way a locked door was over whatever had been shut behind it. Besides, it was not just that she was Orion. It was the way she moved, all smooth certainty and no wasted effort, as if the room had already made space for her before she crossed it.
They tilted their head, giving her a small, welcoming smile as they set the PADD down. “Mostly alcohol, to be honest,” Ress said, opening their arms in a loose gesture that took in the shelves behind them. “Some pickled and smoked things for those averse to replicator cuisine, and a few bottles with warning labels interesting enough to count as conversation starters. I’m Ress.”
“Tiraa Shai.” Tiraa slid into one of the stools on the patron side of the bar and crossed her legs. She wasn’t in the mood for much preamble, there was much left for her to do before they left New Ferenginar, and this needed to be settled before then as well.
“You’re rather far from where you last were, aren’t you?”