AN: Characters and places belong to Bioware. I'm just making them dance to my whims.
The "thoom-UMP... thoom-umph..." of some dance song's bass line filled the heavy air of Flux.
"They won't let you fly again," the curvaceous brunette stated as she walked up to the bar, standing casually next to a twisted, broken figure.
Jeff "Joker" Moreau carefully turned towards the voice, more concerned about his still tender, still mending arm than the whiskey in front of him. A beverage that has been left untouched for more than a half hour, the ice long since melted. Looking bitterly at the shapely woman who stood a full foot taller than he could himself, Joker dragged his eyes past her ample curves and spat out, "Tell me something I don't know, lady. I want to spend some nice, quiet alone time with this whiskey I've been ignoring, so maybe you should just wander back to Chora's Den or wherever your tits belong."
The brunette smiled, ignoring Jeff's outburst. "The merchants and civilian carriers won't let you fly either. It's not enough to be a war hero anymore. Not even when you were Shepard's pilot." Miranda allowed herself a small smile, nothing more than a twitch of the corners oh her mouth when Jeff frowned at her words. "You're one psych evaluation from a medical discharge, and a life piloting computer games and self-loathing. I can change that."
Still loyal to the Alliance - loyal to Her - Jeff turned back to his drink and told Miranda, "Fuck off, Lady. I don't want what you are selling."
Miranda placed a business card face down on the bar in front of Joker. "I'm not selling anything, Joker. I'm giving you an opportunity. There's an extranet address on that card. Open it from a public terminal. If you're interested in what I'm offering, answer the question on the bottom of the page."
Turning away from Joker, Miranda Lawson sashayed out of the bar, drawing all eyes away from the broken pilot. After a few, long moments Joker covered the card with his right hand.