Fair's fair and Vega's a fair man without needing to be reminded too much; just don't challenge him to a game of Skyllian Five.

He reaches a hand towards the bottle nearest to him and lifts it like it's feather-light, lifts an inch or two further in thanks and wastes no time savoring the taste. He drains half and barely fights the natural reaction to so many bubbles in such a short space of time. He's not winning any prizes for being a gentleman any time soon but he's got bigger things to work on. He recognizes the Spanish for what it is and that earns the guy the quirk of the corner of his lip before he begins to tell his story.

"There's three trials you gotta face before you get your ink. Starts on your seventeenth birthday," he starts and none of this is anywhere near true; when he was seventeen he enlisted - his dog tags, Alliance shirt and fatigues betray what he does for a living - but that's still nobody's business.

"Know what Klixen are?"