Orlek Gordalos! No, that;s not right, Garlic Orderlos? No. Galek something. Who gives a sh— Ok. He’s Secretary for Intergalactic Affairs, for the ISC, so he’s important, and he knows a lot of important people, probably. Maybe he’s hooking up with them? Maybe that’s the angle. I dunno anymore, I just need something to write about before the end of the week or I won't get paid.
”Yes, I know who he is. And yes I know he probably shares a club membership with our proprietor so sure, I’ll be on my best behav—”
<< You **** I’ll tear you a new **** you dumb mot—>>
Voren held the commlink away from his ear as his editor once again lost his cool. ”Honestly dude, you keep this up you’re going to have a heart-attack. Your wife must be scared stiff for you, one day - boom boom, and then pop - nasty stuff, I’ve seen it before.”
He chuckled as his boss launched into another tirade over missed deadlines, not that Voren cared, his editor had never done an honest day's work in his life, he just sat in his office smoking and drinking and driving toward an early grave. Lucky son of a bitch.
Ending the call when his boss got as close to heart malfunction as he seemed able, Voren ducked into the bar where he was due to meet his contact, the Secretary of State for Intergalactic Affairs for the Interstellar something or other. ISC - that’s what everyone called it, and Voren was ninety-nine per cent sure it was because nobody had a clue what it stood for.
Voren walked over to the booth he had booked, and kicked his feet up onto the table lighting a stim.
A few people looked over in his direction, seeming to recognise him. He rolled his eyes - it had been a mistake to use his real name and image on his articles. ”Fuck off.” he gave them the finger, and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and lighting a stim, whilst he waited for his contact to arrive.
@Altaris
”Yes, I know who he is. And yes I know he probably shares a club membership with our proprietor so sure, I’ll be on my best behav—”
<< You **** I’ll tear you a new **** you dumb mot—>>
Voren held the commlink away from his ear as his editor once again lost his cool. ”Honestly dude, you keep this up you’re going to have a heart-attack. Your wife must be scared stiff for you, one day - boom boom, and then pop - nasty stuff, I’ve seen it before.”
He chuckled as his boss launched into another tirade over missed deadlines, not that Voren cared, his editor had never done an honest day's work in his life, he just sat in his office smoking and drinking and driving toward an early grave. Lucky son of a bitch.
Ending the call when his boss got as close to heart malfunction as he seemed able, Voren ducked into the bar where he was due to meet his contact, the Secretary of State for Intergalactic Affairs for the Interstellar something or other. ISC - that’s what everyone called it, and Voren was ninety-nine per cent sure it was because nobody had a clue what it stood for.
Voren walked over to the booth he had booked, and kicked his feet up onto the table lighting a stim.
A few people looked over in his direction, seeming to recognise him. He rolled his eyes - it had been a mistake to use his real name and image on his articles. ”Fuck off.” he gave them the finger, and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and lighting a stim, whilst he waited for his contact to arrive.
@Altaris