Mayden Station Dock, Northwest Fringe,

Landing the Providence was always an ordeal. It wasn't due to any fault of Dell or even the ship. Instead, it was Paragon Techs to blame. Paragon Industries held the keys to FTL and were deeply in bed with the Coalition, to the point that most, if not all, FTL was owned by Paragon in some manner.

After a seemingly endless wave of questions, forms, and a few kickbacks to keep the inspectors happy, the Providence finally locked into the dock. At last, the pair of bounty hunters made it to Mayden Station proper.

As usual, the dock is a mess of the hustle and bustle; movers and shakers greeting clients stepping off company barges, and the light-fingered and keen-eyed pickpockets hidden among them size up newly arrived marks.

Domitia and Dell steer clear of the crowds and many of the aforementioned thieves, while the corpo types give them a wide berth.

Dell rides on Domitia's shoulder, as he often found crowds filled with people above a meter and a half taxing to navigate.

The first order of business is to get paid, and their “place of employment” isn't that far of a walk. The pair manage to get out from the throng of spacers and cut down a back alley that leads through the port markets. The smell of strange food and even dicier fruits and veggies line ramshackle stands, making an already narrow street even more narrow. The vendors bear the pair no heed, although they spare a glance just to keep an eye on the bounty hunters.

After passing through the alleyway, they dip into a small building labeled Coalition Currency Exchange Branch. Here, bounty receipts like the one Dell and Domitia had could be cashed out for the station's own script or whatever currency the two needed. Inside the exchange is merely a series of ATMs that several figures of various levels of shadiness huddle around. One of these figures looks over to the pair, nodding. He's a human, middle-aged, wearing a reasonable amount of armor, a belt of pistols across his barrel chest, and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"Ah! Seems like the dynamic duo lives another day!"

"Hey! Meixer!" Dell waves at the fellow bounty hunter, "How's the hunting going?"

"Going better than I thought," He holds up a wad of cash, "Bail jumpers are pretty reliable. How's the pirate hunting?"

"Better than we thought," Dell brags a little, "Nabbed Vinnie the Smasher--"

"--Breaker." Domitia corrects her partner.

"Oh, who gives a shit," Dell retorts.

"Big pirate then?" Meixer asks, "How augged was he?"

"Standard fare." Domitia begins, "Toak arms, reinforced spine. Void skin. You know the type."

"Right. Brass addicts who just love the augs." Meixer replies, "Well, I got winnings to spend." He waves his cash before stuffing it in his pocket, zipping it, and finally buttoning it. "You know you oughta stick on Mayden for a minute. Plenty of Bounties to nab on this rust bucket. I gotta contact in Control if you ever need some easy marks."

"We'll keep it in mind." Domitia says, giving him a two-finger wave, "Good hunting."

Meixer grins, waves, and disappears through the door. The pair find a console on the wall and cash out their bounty. The fat stack of bills catches the eyes of some ne'er do wells hanging in the shop's corners, but the sight of the guns on Domitia and Dell deter them from following them as they leave.

"You know he's right." Domitia starts.

"Who?" Dell asks, counting their winnings while riding on his partner's shoulder.

"Meixer. Mayden has plenty of work we could cash into."

"Oh no, no, no," Dell snatches his share with his tail as he turns to face Domitia, "We need to make money. Real money!"

"Yet we never seem to make enough," Domitia counters, "Besides, it would be nice to do some stuff station side. Community service and all."

"Oh, sister!" Dell rolls across Domitia's shoulders, popping up on her left shoulder, "This shit again? Come on, Dom, you do enough community service scraping scum like Vinnie out of the cracks of society."

"Doesn't it bother you that they're out as soon as we put them in?" Domitia retorts.

"Then kill them if it bothers you that much," Dell says, rolling his eyes.

"I did that," Domitia crosses her arms, "You got mad at me because 'We don't make money on corpses!'"

Dell slaps his face, "Okay," He sighs, "That's... On me."

The Bellator rolls her eyes, burying a rising disappointment, "Well, if this lead pans out, we’ll both get what we want."

"I guess." Dell then handed Domitia her half of the bounty, "Listen, the ship needs some maintenance. I'll send you a list of parts, do a little shopping, and hit up my contact."

Domitia took her half but shook her head, "Not letting you go alone."

Dell sighs, "Dom, you're not exactly subtle. I know the guy, he's a little... jumpy. You might spook him."

"And askin' about Flynt won't?" Domitia asks.

Dell pulls out his comb and runs it through his hair, thinking, "You got a point."

"I trust you to handle the meeting, but I'm tired of others taking an interest." Domitia explains, "If a 'nobody' like Vinnie knew, then a 'somebody' probably knows for sure."

"Right, right, fine. Just gotta set things up," Dell motions, "Come on, I'll lead ya."

The pair of bounty hunters begin to wander through the station. Trips to Mayden were frequent, so the two rarely got lost. As Dell directs Domitia through the winding streets of Mayden, the Bellator ponders the possibility of Flynt being alive. The bastard was infamous for his brutality, and the terror he struck scarred generations for years. The idea that some view him as a hero makes her hands clench hard enough to break skin; that such a wretch could be upheld as a hero sickens her. The mere possibility that he escaped justice after the Firebrand's destruction causes a flame to rise in her that she hasn't felt in a while. A desire to right the wrong and ensure he meets his final judgment. For the first time in a long time, a spark ignites somewhere within Domitia. Something far older than her screams to right the wrong, to put Jericho out of his misery and free the galaxy of his presence once and for all.

"There! Wait. No, there!" Dell points to an inconspicuous hole in the bulkhead dive.

Domitia looks over and cringes, the flickering neon sign above blinking a suitable name: The Bucket. It's a rusty-looking establishment, built out of what might've been shipping containers at some point, with doors and windows cut into the thin-looking metal. Dell hopped off his partner's shoulder and took the lead; he turned around, raising an assuring hand.

"What?" Dell asks, "I told you, he’s pretty careful--."

“--Paranoid--” Domitia interjects.

"So he's not gonna just meet me! I gotta set up an appointment," He motions to the diner, "Besides, I could use a beer."

"Hmm," Domitia looks over the place, "Does my food come in a bucket?"

Dell raises a finger, "One you get to keep! They even personalize it for you."

Domitia hoped her joke question wouldn't get a real answer, "Think I'll just have a drink. Not too hungry right now."

"Oh, come on, you big ugly ox, I know you're hungry!" Dell motions his partner to follow.

The inside isn't any better than the outside.

The smell of burning oil and rusty metal invades Domitia's senses. She walks with a hunch, her blue hair collecting flakes of peeling paint as she walks through the entrance. Dell manages to find an empty seat at the lunch counter; Domitia chooses to stand next to her partner, uncertain if she wants to trust the thin and fragile barstools.

Behind the counter, a tired, oily-looking human works feverishly at several kitchen stations. Flipping patties of meat, toasting bread that said meat will go upon, and checking on the fried sides that will go with said meat on toasted bread. Finally, he gets a free moment and swings around. He blinks, taking in Domitia at first, the sight of the nearly seven-foot woman putting him on edge. That is until Dell snaps his finger.

"Hey! Hey! Old man! Get me something cold to drink!"

He shakes his head, the cook's wits returning to him, "Ah, wait your turn, space gremlin!"

"Hey! That's racist!" Dell holds a handful of singles, "But I'll forget about it if you grab a beer for me!"

The cook then looks Dell over, laughing, "Always good to see ya, Dell!" Then, he looks to Domitia, "Have a seat! You're making me nervous."

The Bellator surveys the stool before carefully lowering herself onto the one next to Dell, eliciting a groan from it as she finally sits.

The cook looks over to Dell, "Who's your date?"

Dell laughs, "Ain't my type; she's my partner."

"Ah! The famous Domitia, finally gracing me with your presence," The cook says with a wry smile.

"And you are?" Domitia asks.

"Lee, Lee Anderson! Best cook this side of the station." Lee said with a mock salute. "Hungry? You look it! I got some Hagen Tail in the freezer. Toak's love that shit, and judging by your size, I think you'd polish it off fine!"

"Not here to eat." Dell says with a smile, "Just a drink."

"Right..." Lee says with a nod, "Well, I gotta make a call; you kids don't burn the place down while I'm gone."

Dell took a swig of his beer, cringing a bit as he swallowed, "Fuck. Love this swill."

Domitia takes a whiff and a sip; smacking her lips together, she looks over at Dell and asks, "Why?"

"It's the bite." Dell explains, "It's like a good fight, but in your mouth."

Domitia shakes her head, "If I wanted a fight, I'd look for one."

Lee reappears, taking his post at the bar, slamming a handful of coins on the metal tabletop, "Here's your change, bud."

Hidden underneath the pile of change, Dell pulls out a slip of paper, reading it briefly before nodding and finishing his beer in one swig.

"Keep it! You probably need it to keep the lights on!" Dell says, knocking the bar and hopping off the stool.

Domitia follows her partner's lead, finishing her drink in one swig, and gives the bar a good knock. As she stands, she bangs her head on the low ceiling, letting out a belch as she does. The Bellator then dusts the rust out of her hair and nods at the cook, who awkwardly waves in return. Finally, Domitia steps out of the restaurant, finally able to stand at full height; she looks over to Dell, who is doing his best to suppress a laugh.

"Not a word." Domitia says, raising a finger, "Not. A. Word."

"I mean..." Dell punches himself in the arm to keep himself from laughing, "Not even one?"

Domitia levels a look that would kill lesser beings, which gives Dell enough reason to sigh in defeat, "Fine. Fine. I won't rub salt in your already wounded pride."

"Where we going?" Domitia asks.

"Down."