Ms.Hari wants Cross's services. This can only end badly.

Initial Setting:
The Groove District - A small seedy club at the edge of the district.

Followed by

Ms.Hari tightened up her jacket, noting the obvious general cruddiness this neighbourhood excreted. Normally she wouldn't dare enter this area of the city. She suspected she could hear some screaming a few blocks away and the filthy homeless squares just looked at her funny as she walked by. This is where her information led her. To a very secluded club for a certain clientele. She only briefly looked at the man standing in the door before he moved aside and she made her way down the stairs into the red-lighted hallway with peeling wallpaper and black floors. She paused briefly as she was certain she just heard someone's yell. She shuddered and made herself smaller by tightening on her jacket and hunching her shoulders. Making her way though the doorway to the main bar she walked her way to a certain man sitting there and sat beside him ordering a Martini for herself. She noted the music playing, Tom Waits. At least something about this place had good taste.thumb|right|200px

The music being about the only thing he ever came here for, ...besides the drink. He flexed his fist idly. He wasn't responsible for the other idiot who just got punched off his bar stool, but /damn/ had he been thinking about it really hard. Always nice when a day went your way without you having to make it do so. And now a lovely lady has taken up residence in the emptied seat. He glances at her, drinking his bacardi and deciding she does /not/ fit in with the scum around here.

Ms.Hari turned her quiet gaze to the man next to her. "Mister Cross, information dictates you're the man who can get me what I need." She started of vague, not one to beat around the bush so to speak. This wasn't her kind of place or neighbourhood. Lord knows she'll be burning her clothes when she gets home and having a very long bath. She sipped her Martini with a slight shudder and a wrinkle of the nose was a very tell-tale sign she didn't like it at all.

Cross takes a moment to register that she is actually talking /to him./ He turns his head, a slow, belaboured effort with a sort of controlled loll to it's tilt that only the very inebriated can get right. "You are in entirely zhe wrong dishtrict. I have a lot of things. Vhat you need vill determine how zhis dischussion goes." Maybe she too was quite drunk and he could fuck her and be done with it? Cross somehow doubted this. She wanted something particular just by her word choice.

Ms Hari picked at her gloves fixing them up and completely abandoning the gasoline and piss infused liquid that the bartender calls a drink. "Ambrosia, Mister Cross. Normally I would have you come to me, however you can be difficult to track down at best."

Cross doesn't even pause, "Ja, zhat sounds like me. But vhy vould I haff zhis 'ambrosia'?" he knew damn well about the apology bottle of the stuff he'd received from Hype, but made no indication of this to the woman in front of him. He takes her glass and sips at it, she certainly didn't seem interested in it. "Vhats your interest?" seeing as he didn't even have a name from her yet, it didn't hurt to dig a little. The music playing gave them more than enough cover from prying patrons.

Ms.Hari dusted off a bit of lint on her jacket and paused, she despised dealing with drunks "Make no mistake Mister Cross, I intend on giving you a small fortune upon acquiring not only 3 vials of ambrosia, but a small list of other fun goodies." She then produced a small folded note out of the inside of her jacket and in the cleavage of her dress and folded note and she slid it to him on the bar.

Cross takes the note almost without looking at it, reading it with an almost practised lack of eye contact with her. Hmm. Goodies. And Funds. He sips at her drink some more, it was his now. "Do you expect me to acquire zhese free? I buy cheap and sell fur a profit, it is zhe only reason I sell at all." he pauses, as if that's the end of it right there. "I might shtill be interested. Let's discuss." he wants to know whatever he can for motivations etc, since she is a new customer. it pays to be able to spot if you're selling to a user or a fellow dealer.

Ms.Hari she looked at her palm and touched the centre her bracelet lighting up a screen on her palm. She tapped on it a few times "Mister Cross. This is what I intend to pay you for your services. Should you accept it" She showed the man her palm, 22,500 credits were ready for transfer to Cross' bank account. "It should be more than enough to cover the acquirement of the items I need plus a small bonus for your work."

Cross reads.... and then squints. Then reads again. That. Is. A. Disgusting. Amount of credits. He doesn't freak out openly, but as probably the soberest member in this bar, she's likely able to catch that eyes-wide second on his face before he passes out and hits the floor with an ugly THUNK.

Ms.Hari looks down at him with a light sigh and makes a quick call with her bracelet phone. Soon enough large men come and drag Cross out throwing him all too roughly in a limousine waiting out front to transport his silly drunken arse to her home.