The creature who across from her was anything but human. He was bipedal, yes, but that's where the resemblence ended. This creature, Bydusky was his name, was literally a hulk: even sitting in the human-sized booth seemed to be a strain for him: his cold hairy knees inevitably rubbed against hers--not that he could help it, of course, and his mousey brown, fur-coated arms took up nearly the entire table. He was hunched over, his vaguely lupine face hard to read, save for his perked ears and his slightly canted head. His breath smelled of stale blood and decay. "Mox," he growled, his voice a hardly intelligeable rumble, "this isn't just a bonding story. This is you getting an easy break, getting out of here for a while, and coming back with shit-loads of money. The bond's secondary. 'Sides, it'd be me on the sands, not you. You know the deal." He rapped his insanely-long claws against the stained table-top with impatience.

"Yeah well," Mox, the girl, pinched the salt on her finger over her shoulder and replied, "I don't do off-world. I'm a home-girl." She certainly seemed like a Stationer: her dark skin was marked with intricate circuitry patterns, even up across her shaved head. Both eyes were pitch black--not naturally, no, they looked more like enhanced eyes, like cyborware eyes. She wore a smart-mesh black body suit, and while this was unusual against the technicolour fashions that swept the space station, it was the kind of suit that could blend against just about anything when activated. She didn't look like she was carrying any weapons at the moment, but she had that look that told people not to mess around with her. Thread-thin white lines marked her hands, the visible sign of a knife-fighter. She was a trouble-maker, certainly, a professional, definitely. A person needed some dirty work done, they came to her. That was why, when this towering wolf-man approached, asked her to play body-guard and gave her his terms, she'd begun to protest. Sure, she could shadow a person, but that was usually to pick them off, not to keep a watch over them. And while she knew Star City like the back of her hand, anything off-world--or even on world, as far as the planet below the station was concerned--was uncharted territory.

"It's an easy job, Mox. Just guard my coffin in the day, make sure I get to this dragonstake and back in one piece, and you've got your money." He stared at her with his milky, white-dead eyes.

She heaved a sigh and ran a hand over her head. Neon lighting from the bar around them played off of her scalp, but appeared to become absorbed completely by her matte sleeve. "Well, shit. Fine, yeah. I'll do it. I want half of it up front, though. And I gotta take care of some business before we go." She leaned back as her new client laughed. The fetid smell of his breath was nearly overpowering. "Shit, you need a mint or something."

He laughed again. "Doesn't do a thing. Dead's dead. But I'll have the money for you. Give you a day, then we're out of here." He passed her an info-chip, which she uploaded to her wrist-unit. A sum of money appeared--more then she'd seen in a while, truth be told, and a set of coordinates. "Memorized it?" He grunted. Mox nodded, and the info vanished.

"Shit," she exclaimed. She thumbed at the power, but the unit had gone completely dead. "You fried it!"

"I'll get you a knew one."

"Bastard."

"Yeah, they say that." He grinned, revealing a pair of knife-long incisors. "See you tomorrow."

Mox watched him leave the table and slouch away from their booth with utter disgust. Fried her wristcard... he'd pay for that. With a grunt, she punched a pay-code into the booth-side dumbwaiter, but to her surprise, it was rejected. Bydusky'd already paid for the both of them.