VeraSorger: Thank you so much, Vera! :D I'm glad someone enjoys my stories!

Walking cautiously, but pompously, the Ferengi ex-liquidator Brunt casually searched for the bartender. Not for a drink, but to make sure Quark wasn't there. Quark had threatened to kill him on more than one occasion and Brunt wanted to keep his distance.

He sauntered past the Dabo tables, causing two or three Ferengi waiters to look up. In reality, even if one didn't know him as a liquidator, Brunt looked and sounded like he knew what he was doing. A slender 1.6 meters, he was taller than most Ferengi – an abnormal trait. Although he may not have been able to audit anymore, he carried a formidable air of power that spread quickly. And he loved every bit of it. He relished the power he still held over others of his kind. The subtle shrinks that he evoked, the respect that almost flowed to him.

The only difference now was that he was broke. Ever since Rom became the Grand Nagus, Brunt had been stranded on the station without anything. But being a proud man, he still made it appear that he held a substantial quantity of profit. As much as it pained him to do so, he wouldn't spend the bar of latinum he wore around his neck for anything.

So there he was, ruined and incapable with only his outer façade and the dim shadow of revere he yet had. The only thing he could do was live by the seventh Rule of Acquisition: Keep your ears open.

Just then, Weyoun came down the steps of the upper level with the Starfleet lieutenant close behind. Brunt didn't give the Vorta much thought, grabbing a waiters arm and placing an order. "One snail juice, extra protoplasm."

Across the bar at the counter, Weyoun leaned on his forearms, softly ordering a decaf racktajino. Turning enough to face the security chief, he gave Kitz a pitiful look. "Can I not have some space from the Federation's oppressive hand?"

"How much space are we talking about?" replied Kitz.

Weyoun looked the human up and down neutrally. "Enough to where your breathing is no longer audible."

Kitz stared at him, unmoving; then slowly backed over to the nearest table.

After Brunt received his drink, he glanced over at the Vorta, wondering absently why he was being guarded like a prisoner. All Vorta were diplomats that had a compliment of Jem'hadar with them. Sipping his concoction, Brunt noticed a small group of Klingons coming into the bar. They also noted the diminutive Vorta and one of them grinned maliciously.

"So… this is the mighty warlord we fought for so many years. Weyoun, isn't it?" said the Klingon.

Brunt's large ears perked up immediately. The Weyoun? The former dictator of the Dominon? Brunt thought the last one died on Cardassia six months ago.

The Vorta hesitated for a fraction of a second then stood roughly from his stool. He gave the Klingon his bravest glare, eyes flaming. "That's correct!"

Fairly surprised, Brunt sat up in his chair, as did several other people in the bar.

The Klingon smiled smugly down at Weyoun. "That's what I thought… I've been searching for your kind ever since the war started."

"Why would a Klingon be interested in Vorta?" replied Weyoun in a loud voice. "The war is over and there is no honor in going after us any longer."

The Klingon bristled at this. "Do you deliberately try to insult Klingon honor? A war is never over until the last enemy is slain. You are a cowardly, spineless people without any honor of any kind!"

"I have no fight with you. Or any Klingon in the Empire."

"Wrong again, Vorta. Your people will always be an enemy of the Empire, no matter what you do. Thousands of my people have died under your hand—some without any warning or chance to die in battle. Their honor must be reclaimed!" The Klingon reached under his armor and unsheathed a baq'tor, a long blade.

Finally, Kitz stood from his table. "Okay, I'd say this has gone far enough."

The Klingon's temper flared again. "Stay out of this, human. This is not a Starfleet matter."

"It is with him. Weyoun is a Federation prisoner; for you to interfere or injure him would bring you under Federation law… and charges. Now, would you like to leave this place freely or do you want to find out just how small a jail cell can be after three months?"

Weighing the options in his head, the Klingon sheathed his baq'tor and growled at Weyoun. The Vorta was still holding his ground, glaring daggers of his own into the man's skull.

All the while, Brunt was watching the scene unfold, more and more impressed with the Vorta's fortitude. As the group of Klingons left, an idea began forming in his head. What a perfect opportunity…

Weyoun sat down at his stool once more as the tall Ferengi made his way over to the seat next to him. Leaning back on the bar counter, Brunt spoke up when Kitz was occupied with another officer. "That was rather daring of you – shoving your face right in that Klingon's. I couldn't have done that if you'd paid me 300 bars."

"It wasn't daring, it was a blind… stupid move," said Weyoun, looking rather exhausted.

Brunt raised an eyebrow at Weyoun. "Then if it was so stupid, why did you do it?"

"Because… I have virtually nothing to lose."

Laughing inwardly, Brunt thought this was too good to be true. "It looks like we're in the same ship, then."

Weyoun looked puzzled for a moment. "I thought this was a station."

"I meant we're both in a similar predicament." Brunt turned to face the Vorta. "I'm hopeless, you're hopeless. I'm out of a job; you're out of a job. I'm stranded…" He leaned closer. "…you're stranded… We're both ripe for movement."

Glancing at Kitz warily, Weyoun dared himself to make another blind move. "What are you suggesting?"

Brunt grinned, baring his sharp, jagged teeth.