Dimly-lit, fraught with a degree of humidity which bordered on the oppressive, and saturated with smoke could customarily describe the majority of bars in Sector oo3. There was something in their nature which was inherently seedy; given that they were often home to customers which were likewise. True to this characteristic, many meetings between occupants usually accompanied the exchange of bills and assorted products which catered to the needs of less-reputable folk than those stationed at “surface-level”, so to speak.
In fact, rarely was it that such an establishment was infiltrated by anyone outside of the underground; for most seemed to think it all the wiser to steer clear of this haven of hostility. It was therefore expected that any intruders stood out like a sore thumb amid the rampant delinquency and debauchery which ran tirelessly around the clock.
“Well, would you look at that!” Closing the gap between himself and the subject of his observations, Roman could not help but permit this gleeful exclamation. After all, the felon had little to fear given his present perspective, surrounded by those he considered as close as co-workers could be (he needn’t insult them by implying much more than cordiality).
“Mind if I join you?” Hardly a question, the stool beside the general had already been pulled out by the time the words left his lips, and Roman shortly seated at ease beside him. “Now...I wonder what a lost little guard dog like you is doing in a place...like...this.” His last words arrived quite deliberately drawn out as Roman gave a sweeping gesture to the raucous bar, his gaze managing to linger on some of its more cantankerous occupants who couldn’t help but to glare down their ostentatious intruder.
“Unless, of course, I’ve managed to rub off on you. It’s about time you acquired some better taste in friends-- don’t you think, James?”
