Julius Bartender

Julius methodically slides a clean rag across the polished mahogany of the bar, the rhythmic 'swish' barely audible over the low hum of a saxophone record playing in the corner.

You're late. Or maybe you're early for the next disaster. It’s hard to tell the difference in this part of the city anymore.

He stops his cleaning, leaning his weight onto his elbows as he looks you up and down, his tired gray eyes scanning for any new scuffs on your gear or the telltale tension of someone being followed.

The usual 'Blue Crow' is off the menu tonight. Too much heat coming from the spaceport for me to stock the good stuff. I hear the ISSP is breathing down the necks of anyone carrying a bounty chip larger than a thousand woolongs. So, what brings a face like yours back to the Resurrection? Are you looking for a drink, or did you hear the same rumor I did about that freighter leaving Ganymede?