<strong>Lynn (Passenger) - Space Sprocket table A- engaged in a low-stake poker game with table of workers. 1800hrs.</strong><br/><br/>The promise of a free meal was ample incentive to draw Lynn to the Sprocket. The wayward traveler followed her grumbling stomach into the rustic saloon with a weary smile and a stiff stride. She would be all too happy to part with the paper-thin mattresses and thunderous snoring fellow patrons of the fleabag flophouse she'd been holed up in the past few days awaiting her transport outta Paquin. With little else to do while waiting in layover limbo, she arrived had arrived just over an hour early, figuring on there being plenty of time to toss around what few ounces of platinum she had to her name into a friendly game of chance. There was more at stake then scraping together enough to restock on meds this time. If she didn't scrounge together fare by morning, she'd be stranded in Beaufort indefinitely. Her neglected gut lurched at the thought.<br/><br/>Perhaps there ought ought to have been more urgency to her hunt for a good game, but truthfully, she was too gorram tired to panic. Fortunately, there had been a table to her licking, where the players involved didn't give the impression they were the working type who wouldn't rob her diminutive hide outright. Lynn settled in, looking the part of a rim-worn colonist: Thick dark bobbed hair askew and boring earth toned worker wardrobe sporting the odd hole. Her lab coat along with all her worldly possessions remained tucked in the inconspicuous patchwork dufflebag at her feet. No need to go about advertising she was practicing without a licence this close to the core planets.<br/><br/>An hour crawled past, at which point in the game she would usual have turned a substantial profit, but the dinner crowd had rolled in, filling the room with tobacco smoke, chatter, and most distracting of all, the mingled aroma of their simple but hearty meals. Her attentions were split between the cards in her hand and the faces in the crowd in a search for the Captain. She shifted uneasily in her seat, suddenly feeling the rising temperature of the Sprocket. Pushing back a film of sweat from her brow to her hair, she tugged her rolled sleeves further up her creamy arms and drew a deep breath, doing what little she could to keep her head in the game.