Snippet #2591091

"Huh...an exporter and her accountant, eh? The trade routes must be particularly dangerous of late, what with all that heat you two're packing," Eris says with a raised brow and the ghost of a smirk. It's clear by her tone that she's not buying a word of it. "My new friend here," she says, gesturing to Brandon, "is a very successful investor. I, myself, am a private security contractor, currently out of work and looking to start my own business. We could always use an exporter to deliver our product and that, and one can never have too many accountants, I always say. I believe our intentions may intertwine rather nicely."
There's a pause as she finishes off her last soykaf, and gestures at the Turk for a third. "In any case," she continues, that half-smirk never leaving her face, "there's no need to be so tense. We're just having a nice chat is all. You two look like you're wound up tighter than durasteel twine."

Despite her rather verbose greeting, she certainly takes notice of the two new folk entering the cafe, viewing them through her drone's optics, immediately recognising a familiar face in Iris, and immediately registering an unfamiliar one. The way the man carries himself would suggest a resolute disposition, if not a particularly kind one. She makes a mental note to keep track of him. Iris was a native of the Kreuzbasar, and had lived there for most of her life. She still maintained her innocence, and Eris guessed she was hardly careful enough not to get involved with the more dangerous anarchists. However, the man could prove to be useful. Strong, violent people would be needed greatly in the next few weeks.

She turns her attention back to her group, smiling brightly. "Can I get you three a soykaf on me? Perhaps a toffee?" she asks, leaning up against the bar and crossing her legs, her position and tone suggesting the utmost relaxedness, contrasting greatly with Aphelion's tense disposition.