Sitting in a Sunnyside cafe on the corner of 12th and Main sat a portly gentleman, sipping from a porcelain glass. He was dressed in an expensive suit, which was stretched to the limits around his ample girth. Though heavy in the chest, his face and neck reflected none of the encumberment, often deceiving people who spoke to him only via holo-conference. Next to his elbow was a bottle of some wine, the label yellow with age. The bottle rested upon a lace tablecloth, which rippled slightly in the slight breeze. Only a few other people were seated outside, though it was a gorgeous day for outdoor eating. The man shifted his weight on the chair he sat upon, its impossibly delicate legs moaning with the change, but holding.

With a sigh, the gentleman checked his crono, and returned to sipping the blood red wine, as apparently was.

Fashionably late, as always, a gentleman of another sort soon joined the portly fellow seated at the table.

This man was of a considerable contrast to the larger man. Though still dressed in an expensive tailored suit, his was rather more form fitting and comprised of more blacks and purples then people usually saw. He was a tall, lanky near-human with skin of a green tint and crimson eyes that seemed illuminated by their own inner light.

Adjusting his cufflinks, the gentlemen softly slipped into his seat at the opposite end of the table with a subtle nod to the other.

"I do trust I am not late..."

"No, not entirely" replied the heavy set gentleman. "Just late enough to make sitting here on this force-forsaken chair a rather undesirable activity." He shifted his body again, and the chair complained loudly, the slender legs shuddering under the great weight they were enslaved to bear.

"I trust" he said, his voice guarded but not overly hushed, "that everything is as described?" He watched his new companion out of the corner of his eye, as he poured another glass of red wine, and re-filled his own. A sudden increase in the breeze ruffled the tablecloths on the dozens of tables about them, and a waiter or appeared out of thin air with two menus, his broken basic asking how everything was.

Particularly adept at seeming less then interested in matters at hand, the skinny man showed hardly an inkling of concern. Delicate fingers slipped inside the thin-mans jacket, flitting out a cigarra as well as a plain brown envelope. Laying the manilla folder on the table with one hand, he lit the cigarra with the other.

"Everything is exactly as detailed. Five Aegis class, five squadrons of E-wings complete with R7 astromech units and five Skipray gunboats. Now, I am simply going to assume that everything is in order on your end."

Glancing over his shoulder, the thin-man passed off a barely perceptible gesture to another seemingly uninvolved bystander... whom likewise passed the gesture on to another. All of it was done with just enough show that the fat-man would likely see... And understand.

"No, no thanks, we are fine, thank you." said the portly gentleman to the waiter, who then vanished again... a hologram. Reaching out and grasping the manila envelope with his fleshy fingers, he opened it and dumped the contents unceremonially out on the table. His chair protested the sudden movement in a very audible tone, but survived.

"Excellent, excellent" he said. "Beautiful ships."

Pausing for a moment to observe the not-so-hidden accomplices, he raised an eyebrow to his companion. "Trust," he said, his lips forming the words with precision, "Is an unfathomable and valuable commodity."

Pushing the second glass of wine he had poured over to his companion, he too retrieved an envelope from his coat.

"Right off the manufacturer's line, ten of our brand new Vigil class SPC's."

Thin-man, as it serves these purposes to call him, lifted the glass to his lips and, in excellent facsimile, pretended to drink. Licking his lips, for effect, he added, "Excellent choice." Then promptly put the glass aside.

Delicate fingers lifted and opened the envelope, though were rather more discrete with their contents... reading half a document at a time. It took the thin-man rather longer to go over the contents of his envelope then it had taken his larger counterpart but, satisfied after a time, a smile curled the corners of his lips.

"Well. Everything seems in order. You will find your payment in waiting as the designated coordinates... As, I trust, so will mine." While talking, he slipped the new envelope inside of his jacket, where the other had been.

The heavy set man shrugged slightly, barely moving his expensive coat shoulders as he did so. "Yes, you may do so, if you wish. Understand we expect you to disassemble a few of the ships, naturally, but we would be most ... displeased if you were to begin manufacturing them." He took another drink from his glass, and reached for the bottle to refill it again as he continued. "Someday, perhaps, we may sell build rights. But, not today. Besides, there are a few key components that would be impossible to duplicate, without which the ship may not function as ... desired ..."

Eyeing his companion as he articulated the last phrase with exceeding slowness, he partook again of the wine in his glass.

"Naturally," began the thin-man, standing as he spoke, "we would never seek to infringe upon such a market, as I believe was specified before hand. No matter."

"Unless there was anything else," clear in his tone to convey a sense of urgency, "I believe I must be off. Thank you so much for your time."

Pausing but a moment, the thin-man waited... Just in case.

"And you for yours" responded the overweight gentleman, not bothering to stand.

A cloud wisped over the overhead sun, muting all the brilliant colors around them before being whisked on its way, returning the Sunnyside cafe to its usual brilliant pleasantness.