<div align="center"><strong>~&lt;=&gt;~ Kiran Reed (yes, ladies, he's single) <del>   </del> Oxhorn Saloon <del>   </del> Has found some proper liquor, given to him by a newly made "friend" <del>   </del> dressed (http://www.yeshairstyles.com/wp-content/gallery/sam-worthington/sam-worthington-hairstyle-from-terminator-salvation.jpg) sharply (http://www.dabblestone.com/bio_files/Sam%20Worthington%20poster.jpg), as always ~&lt;=&gt;~</strong></div><div class="floatleft">(http://cdn.crushable.com/files/2012/04/cos-sam-worthington-fun-fearless-awards-mdn.jpg)</div><br/><strong>"Me? I'm a mechanic by trade,"</strong>Kiran replied with a lopsided grin as he brought his glass to his lips again, pouring the tasty beverage down his throat. It had a nice sting to it. Good stuff.<strong>"If a skiff's broken, I fix her; if she's not, I make sure she stays that way. My last contract just ended yesterday, so now I'm just killin' time and waitin' for the next ride off this dust ball."</strong><br/><br/>Leaning back in his chair, the mechanic had silently noted the way the other man was leaning against the table, one hand seemingly having disappeared into his sleeve. Nervous, perhaps. But why? The Alliance soldiers? Kiran might have been a mechanic, but he could smell trouble just as much as the next person with at least two ounces of wit. It was probably best to remain calm though. Right now nothing was amiss and he shouldn't try anything to change that. Besides, he wanted to finish the first decent drink he's had all day first, at the very least, before getting his caboose into a troublesome situation.<br/><br/><strong>"And what do you do, then, if you don't mind me askin'?"</strong>he asked in return. Seemed like someone who got around, Kiran thought. Perhaps a trader. Nah, acted too casual for that. Might be hauling cargo from planet to planet. Seemed like the rough and tough type for that sort of work.