Giantprick waved at her dismissively before taking beginning to type at his desk, likely an internal built computer.  As Ianthe exited, and she moved back down into the strip club.  The other Grey were sitting around one of the tables, obviously in a panic as they spoke. When she moved over to the Bartender, she looked up at her.  She wasn't polishing the glasses anymore, she was leaning against the back, arms crossed under her impressive breasts, while the necktie she wore was scandelously between them.  "Coffee?  Now there's something I don't get asked for a lot."  Moving over to some sort of archaic food replicator, she pressed in a few buttons, before a white cup appeared.   From this vantage point, it appeared as if the Bartender was the only one permitted to wear pants, as in this case she more a baggy pair of dress slacks.  Walking back over, it was filled with a dark liquid, coffee.  "Most want to drink their sorrows away, not wake up to them."<br/><br/><i>The last one who tried to make a move at him wound up being gutted and fed to sand worms while he was still alive.  The Syndicate is known for ambition, but most of the time Giantprick lets his men do their own thing enough for them to not want to risk getting killed for the crown.</i>Her voice was soft, dignified, despite the outfit she wore.<i>If its a Grey, it might be an exile from one of the other Syndicate held worlds, or maybe just another crime lord trying to move it.  That theory in itself is with its own merits.</i><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>