Reflections of Camelot: The Duality

[STSF Corizon 0]

Author's Note: Occurs sometime between last week's game and this week's.

 

A twitch tingled up Corizon's spine—he was being watched, but by whom? Carefully he he placed his drink down at the bar and slid currency across the Ferengi bartender. His ears twitched softly as he listened for approaching footsteps while his eyes were turned towards the bar.

 

“Well if it isn't the Great White hunter himself,” a voice said suddenly next to him.

 

“You're lucky I didn't mistake you for someone else and rip your throat out right here,” Corizon said gruffly, having recognized the voice. “I am sure there's few people on this station who'd mind...save for that Marine boyo of yours...”

 

“How do you...” the speaker was clearly exasperated. “I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about.”

 

Corizon called the Bartender for another drink and turned to face his visitor. The Bajoran had managed to sneak up on him, and that annoyed him—but then so did the Bajoran in question. “So what is that you want Korix?”

 

Vaos lifted his brows for a moment, then called the barkeep for a drink of his own. Examining Corizon for a moment he observed the Dameon's carefully crafted look: a deep red tunic with a mandarin collar belied a slender, muscular torso the long white leather trench was a statement as much as it served as a place to hide any number of weapons. And the red leather pants...Korix had to admit...the man knew how to dress.

 

Korix put a glass of pink-purple liquid to his lips, and smiled. “I was actually wondering what you were doing on the station?”

 

Twitching an ear slightly, Corizon put down his drink and gave a long sideways glance to either side of the bar before proceeding. “If you must know...”

 

“I do.”

 

“Business,” Corizon grunted.

 

“Business?”

 

“I wasn't aware you were hard of hearing...”

 

“I am not,” Korix said. “It was a question as to the kind of business you're here on.”

 

“Last time I checked,” Corizon said half-growling, “I didn't have to clear my travel with a lowly Internal Affairs officer at every Bus Stop.”

 

Frowning, Korix pointed to elaborate chain holding an order about Corizon's neck. “I don't think I have to remind me you that your business is such that I have every reason to question you're motives.”

 

“If it's that half-breed Admiral you're worried about,” Corizon said slyly, “I am not here for him.”

 

Relieved Korix nodded. “I have your word?”

 

“No,” Corizon said with a wide, fangy grin. “Not like I'd tell you anyway...one of the advantages of being Imperially sanctioned.”

 

Fluttering his eyes in further exasperation Korix finally sighed. “Ugh.”

 

“But you knew that...so why are you really here?”

 

Leaning closer, “You travel quite a bit, yes?”

 

“In my business, yes I do get around, why?”

 

“Have you heard anything about,” Korix dropped his voice. “Romulans making a move on the station, or helping with the Cardassian Resistance.”

 

He leaned back in his barstool and propped his feet up on the bar rail and took another drink. “Well I can't imagine they'd be able to mount any serious attempt at taking the station...lord knows with the Civil War and all...but I do have some,” and now it was Corizon dropping his voice, “contacts.”

 

“What's your price?”

 

“The usual.”

 

Korix instantly frowned. Mercenaries. “Very well, you'll find it deposited.”

 

“Good,” Corizon said. “And throw in a bottle of Tulleberry Wine.”

 

With a begrudging sigh, Korix nodded. “I suppose I can do that. Now about these contacts.”