The Miner's Respite, as it turns out, is more inn than hotel. There's no hotel lobby waiting as Tamil enters. The door leads right into the main room. Booths line the walls, and along one of the far walls there's a bar. There's a door behind it, and a staircase that leads up next to it, as well as another nearby door, toilets judging by the sign. Given the hour, and weather, there's a good number of patrons sitting in booths or at
#Miner'sRespite – September 16, 2019
tables, chatting, eating and drinking. The majority human, but a few other species are represented among the crowd as well. Mostly asari and batarians. Behind the bar counter a TV is playing a news channel, low enough that it's little more than background noise, blending with the buzz of conversation among the patrons.
Enila is tapping away at a terminal behind the bar, exploring the tangled collections of systems that makes up the Respite's sale and security systems. She's a teal-colored asari maiden with red markings around her eyes. Enila is wearing a white tank top with wide shoulder straps and gray pants. She's 179cm (5'10") with a toned build.
looks up at the salarian that has just stepped into the bar, eyeing him suspiciously due to the weapon in his hand. She doesn't look very nervous, however. "Put the gun away, please," she says without greeting nor introduction. "I really don't want to sent you back out dressed like that."
Steve is stood behind the bar, one elbow stabbed against the countertop as he waits in boredom for his shift to end. He hasn't had much of an opportunity to chat up the asari handling things in Aylena's absense. Hasn't had much of a desire to, either. Not anymore than is necessary to do his job, anyway. He's staring into a glass of water while one of the regulars drones on about something or other. His day. How work went.
Something. Things Steve doesn't particularly care about and makes no effort to pretend otherwise. Red plating with chrome trim overtop his black undersuit, he's armed and armored as per usual (Sans helmet, of course) with a Carnifex folded up on his thigh. He's a human. Just over six feet tall. Light skin. Mid-30s. Short, dirty blonde hair. Short trimmed beard. The new arrival causes him to glance towards the front door
as he takes a sip from his glass. An unfamiliar face. Salarian. If it wasn't for the gun in his hand he'd be passed over completely. Salarians aren't usually the type to cause problems. At least the sort of problems his job requires him to deal with. But before he can even speak up, Enila has done his job for him, causing him to glance her way. "It stays holstered while you're in here, buddy." he adds.
There's an instinct to say 'it's not mine', but that wouldn't lead either of them any closer to a resolution. "I'd be happy to," he responds to Enila's instruction, a bit tiredly intoned, but without any intentional snark. "Is there somewhere specific I should be putting trash metal, or will any bin do?" That got the point across just the same.
Of course, in theory, he could just hold onto it, but he wasn't sure if it was worth slipping his luggage off his back, opening it, putting the gun in there somehow, closing it again, and slipping it back on. Arguably it was better than no small arms gun, but if he decided he needed one, he could always buy one.
Enila gave a brief snort at the question, but she doesn't think he's joking. There are drinks here more expensive than non-military versions of that pistol, so she's willing to take his word for it. "Just put it on the counter," she says. "You can have it back when you leave, if you're not serious about disposing of it." She looks him over once again, but she's waiting for him to hand the weapon over before
Steve studies the salarian, an amused expression crossing his features at what he interprets as sarcasm. Who'd throw away a perfectly good pistol? The man who was rambling to him swivels atop his stool to get a look at the salarian as well before turning back to his drink now that Steve's attention is elsewhere- as if he had Steve's attention in the first place. His work problems will have to wait. Enila's suggestion prompts
Steve to lay a gauntleted hand atop the counter, palm upwards. "I'll just-... set it in back for you until ya leave." he offers, the situation not exactly a common one. Most people carrying weapons have a place to store said weapons, after all. The angle of his brow deepens in confusion as he considers that fact, "You just walkin' 'round town wavin' that thing around? You know that ain't all that good for your health,
right? People tend to get a bit twitchy if they see someone walkin' at 'em with a gun in their hand." he warns matter-of-factly, as if that should go without saying.
"It's only a questionable souvenir from a friendly welcome," Tamil explains with a tired shrug lost mostly under his bulky, make-shift rucksack. Snow is lining the edges of his clothes, which seem to consist of at least three layers of loose-fitting garb better worn on any given desert planet. He'll likely overheat now that he's inside, but it's still not adequate for the chill outside.
"I won't likely miss this one," he smiles tiredly, setting it down on the counter. "But thank you. The encounter did somewhat leave me thinking I might need one, so maybe I should hold onto it in the medium-term, until I get a better equivalent. But in any case, for now it's better confiscated."
He dips his head a little, a gesture of humble acknowledgement he's sure is vaguely relevant to human culture, meaning it both for Enila and Steve. Then he glances at Enila. "Could you set me up with a room?"
Steve gives a slight raise of his brow as he scoops the pistol up off of the counter, Tamil's comments causing his gaze to dart back towards the entrance. "Yeah..." he sighs, "...gotta be careful out there." he mutters. He gives the weapon a quick once over, checking the safety and folding it up with a practiced precision that implies a well-oiled history with guns.
Enila nods, and taps a few keystrokes onto the terminal's holographic keyboard. "I'm fresh off the shuttle too, even shared your disregard for the weather forecast, so I've got no advice to give," she says while navigating the interface, her tone lightening up as the gun ordeal is settled. "Okay. We have a few rooms. Two-hundred per night, paid in advance."
Briefly seems to think about the price - given his nature, likely making an unnecessarily precise calculation about the planned expenses in the coming days - then nods. It's not like it could have turned out any other way; the prices aren't exactly a secret, and he would have looked at them in advance, but who doesn't like to double-check their mental notes?
"A single night will do for now," he confirms. "I'll almost surely pester you for another tomorrow, but it does depend a bit on circumstances." Finally, he begins to prise himself out of the straps of his bag, clothes wallowing oddly as his spindly body twists to accommodate the cumbersome luggage. Then it's on the ground beside him and he's tending to it with the intent to pay.
Steve gives a small raise of the pistol to Tamil. "I'll swing by and drop this off at your room before I take off for the night." he explains once it's clear that the salarian will be renting a room from them. Though once the salarian gets to work digging though his bag, he taps the folded up weapon back against the counter. "Or, hell, you could save me a trip and just stow it away." he suggests, "Just make sure you keep it in
your bag or get yourself a holster if you're gonna be bringin' it down here during your stay." Another armed patron is rarely something he would strive for but, well, he's no krogan. Confident that he could snap Tamil in half like a twig with little more than a snap of his fingers, he slides the pistol back across the counter with that deceptively kind smile of his.
Enila smirks. "Being pestered is my job," she says, and sends over the payment request. "Just mind the complexity if you do so for mixed drinks, at least if you know what the end result should taste like." She casts a glance behind her, as if afraid she might be judged by the actual bartender in the building. "The kitchen closes in an hour, by the way," she says. "I know our site says eleven, but we're short on
Tamil glances up at Steve. "Sure," he says. Might as well. He's pretty sure he'd rather have a different weapon for self-defence, but there was the time in the interim and this way he certainly saved his hosts the hassle of finding a place to hold onto it. He reaches for the gun, then tucks it away between the folds of more clothes.
Without bothering to get up for it, he authorises the payment, then zips up the bag again. As he begins to haul the bag back onto his back, he casts his gaze back to Enila. "Thanks for the information. A bit of food will be nice - I'll be on time."
Steve gives a small nod, gauntleted hand shifting back to his abandoned glass of water as Tamil retakes the pistol. "Got a name to go with that room?" he asks, perhaps trying to assist Enila with the process of setting him up with a room bit, more likely, he's just getting a name to associate with a face. Never hurts for security to know who is coming and going.
Enila nods as she receives the payment, and she gives the terminal another few taps; too focused on her task to react to Steve's question before sending it over. "Thanks," she says. "I've sent the key and room number to your omni-tool. Did you get it?" The secrecy around that is common even outside the Terminus Systems, as is the wireless means of unlocking the door with the omni-tool. There's also a numeric
code attached for the off chance the salarian manages to forget his omni-tool in the room when out and about. It's also there if he simply prefers that way of unlocking the door. Enila casts Steve a quizzical look, unsure if she was supposed to ask that.
Tamil catches himself just shy of rattling off his full name, then instead offers: "Of course, my apologies. I'm Tamil Nirano - the full name should be on the receipt, if your system shows it." He gestures to Enila, before turning his attention to her and smiling a little toothily - always a somewhat odd expression for a salarian.
"Yes, thank you," he confirms - he'd had a chance to see it before he'd zipped everything back up. Up the luggage goes. Really, maybe he should invest in some clothes with pockets - though no doubt he even has some, he certainly didn't seem grossly underequipped in the wardrobe department, judging by what was visible in his bag, but his current get-up is just inconvenient.
Steve gives Enila a bit of a sidelong glance as he catches the look she's sending his way, offering a small wink in return. "I gotcha covered, darlin'." he offers, shifting slightly against the counter. "Alright, Tamil Nirano." he says as he turns his attention back to the salarian, annunciating each part of the full name given as if feeling out a shirt that just doesn't quite fit. "Just remember what I said." he continues,
assuming the salarian is preparing to take his leave. He flicks an outstretched index finger Tamil's way, "Keep the gun tucked away."
Enila is still stood behind the terminal, and doesn't seem interested in peeking over the counter at his baggage. "Good," she says. "Enjoy your stay, Tamil, and let me know if something is amiss." Enila takes a step back, and looks around to see if anyone else needs anything.