<strong>Maxwell Quinn, arriving fashionably late to the party, as always.</strong><br/><br/>Quinn had gotten the message from the dame's big black bodyguard as he'd left Tiny's.  Going back to Two-Ticks, he told him that that would be the last night he was crashing there.  From then on, he had a new line of work.  And thank God, because only He knew that sitting around here wasn't getting his Raven fixed any quicker.  Truth be told, he might - key word might - have settled for just waiting out the rest of his piloting day...oh, who was he kidding?  He was the best damn pilot in town.  Him sitting around here might have as well killed him.<br/><br/>He went to sleep, and the next day, he showed up at Tower 17, just as had been requested of him.  His was most definitely the worst looking of the ships.  The firefight that had wrecked his Raven had turned it into a flying gas can with a pair of operational .50 cannons.<br/><br/><strong>"Sorry I'm late!  Wanted to make sure that my plane was fully checked before I got here!"</strong>