<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Samson's Post</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=206036.msg10102569#msg10102569">Quote from: Aiden on 10-06-2014, 03:49:17</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/d58dffffa658c4a8a4abdc5e1055ac9e/tumblr_mrmndmsG3Y1qixqpxo10_250.png)</div><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Samson Castle</span></span></strong>, <em>Captain of the Ship's Ruin </em><br/>2519, present day<br/>Location - The Last Stand Saloon, Eavesdown, Persephone<br/>Tagging - Open<hr/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Playing in the background</div><div class="spoiler_body">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWHniL8MyMM</div></div><br/>Everyone went back to minding their own business quickly, no doubt some of the people in there were looking to avoid someone or another. It was early, too early to be drinking but most people had not almost smashed into the planet on a multi-ton vessel. The ship needed some tender love and care, hell Samson would not mind a little of his own but first things first, a drink. "Anything as long as it is cold and a beer." The tender nodded, poured a frosty mug of beer and went back to dirtying his other glasses with his rag. <br/><br/>Samson drank before he reached for his tablet, antiquated by core world standards, it still allowed him to post on the cortex. He was no computer guy, what took a person no effort, took him a few moments but he was surprised to see his last posting for a pilot had refreshed itself upon them landing. It took him a second beer and an order of salty pretzels to edit the information. Anyone checking the cortex on their own device or a console would be able to see his request, or so he hoped. <br/><br/><hr/><br/><div align="center"><strong>***Old Posting on the Cortex Updated***</strong></div><br/><div align="center"><em>Firefly Class Transport. Designation:Man's Ruin, Time until Departure: <del>2d 23hr</del> TBD<br/>Captain: Castle<br/>Crew vacancies: 1. Pilot needed, cooking skills a bonus. <br/>Mechanic needed, to start now<br/>Shuttle(s) open - 2 <br/>Destinations - open, departure pending on repairs </em></div></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div></div></div><br/>The bartender brought Samson his second drink and the pretzels, but waited for payment before he left him to his business. Not everyone had a flash cortex tablet like that one, so it got him wondering what kind of business this man was in. Also, what kind of money he might've come from to afford not only it, but those fine weapons he was carrying. He knew better than to ask, and he'd chosen his business well because there were few things he enjoyed more than drinking, though over the years he'd come to realise that relaxing in another man's saloon wasn't the same as running yer own.<br/><br/>It was quiet but a few more people drifted into the pub as time passed. There was nothing subtle about the man with a brown duster who took up residence at a table across the room, and two more men drifted in, rougher unshaven sorts, whose clothes had a Chinese look to them while they were not. There was no sign of Santiago or Thalia, nor anyone who fit the definition of potential crew. The bartender served more beers and a bottle of brandy for the browncoat, then when it was clear Samson was done doing whatever it was he was doing (updating the ad for crew), the bartender approached him. "More ta drink?" he asked, before allowing his curiousity to get the better of him. "You wouldn't happen to be lookin' for transport off world, would ya?"<br/>