Inviere Cain could walk into a room with her head on fire, and still act like she owned the place. This dive? It was no different . Even in Federation space,her gait was that of a confident woman. She sauntered in like her smiling face wasn't plastered over the stations walls, offering 100k creds for her head . Chin held high,  short cropped sapphire hair, shaved along the underside, and slicked back, set against pale skin like a variation of an ancient greaser pompadour. She made her way through he sparse crowd, and didn't ask once to be excused.<br/><br/>Her tight leather pants creaked with each heavy step of her heavy boots , loud and echoing even over the music and conversations.  She rolled her white cotton dress shirt sleeves without a care, displaying proudly the insignia of her organization. Then adjusted her tie flexing strong forearms and flashing the unmistakable emblem of the Ethonian 'trading' company. Ethonians were known far and wide throughout the galaxy as little more than thugs, smugglers, pirates and slavers.  Cain was born Ethonian, she'd die Ethonian, and to hell with anyone who didn't like it.<br/><br/>The well fitting suit shirt , tattoos, tie and vest looked a bit awkward when paired with leather pants and boots, but the later added a feminine edge to Cains quite boyish appearance.  It wasn't like she cared. She wouldn't apologize for her extravagant tastes. She took long strides,made easy by her almost towering height and long legs.  While tall, her lean , muscled body had no issue  pressing behind talking couples and slipping between tables. Her side arms clanked against her belt, both polished and weathered, she drummed her fingers against the hilts as she finally found a seat near the back.  She pulled a cigar from her pocket  , set it between her lips and fumbled with her com-unit. "Where the fuck...." She muttered, waving down a bartender and ordering an entire bottle of scotch.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>