Marcus strides into the Old Tin Can.  He's still dressed in his usual armor and backpack, mostly because he's grown accustomed to it, although sadly his cutlasses have been impounded for as long as he remains on-planet.<br/><br/>Which, he reflects, could be a while.  Another term with the Marines wouldn't be<em>that</em>bad, but he'd really rather find something more interesting to work at, and who knows when there'll actually be a decent employer available?<br/><br/>He takes a seat at an empty table near the billboard, and orders a mug of half-decent ale.  While he waits, his eyes travel upwards to scan the listings...