"Miss Holden-"

"Don't 'Miss Holden' me. We've been through this shit before, Marco. I don't owe you for your so called 'services' when we were on the Dead Flower, you got it?" Amanda snapped. It had been three months, and this guy was still trying to get her in bed for round two. She appreciated his business ethic, but sex was [i]not[/i] a business. Not for Amanda. Besides, Marco got her drunk and in bed, and he called those 'services.' Amazing.

"Amanda, please." The poor guy was pleading. Was he serious? Was she that good? She spun around, walking backwards to face Marco. "Look, darling, you're sweet. But you were a terrible lay and I don't owe you for letting you take advantage of me. Now please," Amanda checked over her shoulder. Docking Bay 324 was coming up, and she did not want to be spotted with this loser. If nothing else, Amanda had her dignity to uphold. "Piss off. I do have somewhere to go, and you are, unfortunately, not invited." Amanda smiled bitterly at Marco. Amanda lit a cigarette and sucked on it slowly. If she was lucky, he'd go off on some smuggling trip and get arrested. Or thrown out of an airlock, if there was a god.

Amanda left Marco standing helplessly just outside of the docking bay door. She could barely hear him call after her, “Fine! Get your little prim and proper ass off this station! If I so much as think I’ve heard of you again…” then his voice faded off into nothing. Whatever, Marco. Amanda puffed on her cigarette and blew out over her shoulder, tossing Marco a friendly finger his way. Really, though? He was gonna insult her accent? It wasn’t exactly her fault her London accent stuck with her.

As she moved into the docking bay, she immediately began assessing the new faces. Julius had sent her a list of the new guys on board so she could start ‘getting shit organized, or whatever the hell it is you do when you aren’t holding a gun.’

	“Julius, you prick, are you drunk again? You love to leave me and Grizzy to clean up after you,” Amanda half-shouted playfully, nodding at Griszma. She approached the ship, putting names to the faces. Christopher Briggs, Julius’ cousin. Young, new to space, and exactly what she was when she first ventured out into space. She wasn’t exactly sure what he was good at. Oh well, he’d figure out what he was supposed to do at some point. Omar Bada, who was apparently the best damn chef around. She’d see about that.

Then there was Isam Hajjar and Yasha Belov, the self-proclaimed A Team. To be fair, Amanda had dug up some dirt on them and they deserved that name. They were at least thrice the soldier she was apiece, and she looked forward to having someone else with serious combat training for when shit hit the fan. She briefly gave herself a once over. A gray tanktop and some black jeans. Combat boots. Her hair was a mess. Great, this was the first impression she was about to give as the one that was supposed to know how to make money for everyone. Fuck it, they probably wouldn’t give a shit.

“Hello, gentlemen. I’m Amanda. Technically I’m the business administrator of sorts on this piece of shit, but everything I come up with goes through Julius.” She took a drag of her cigarette. “I’m usually responsible with finding work for us on the long term and making sure our shit runs smoothly on a day to day when Julius is too lazy to do his job as captain.” She threw him a teasing smirk. “I also spent two years in military and I’ve been a merc, on occasion.

“I think you’ll fit in fine, here, gentlemen. Most of the crew are decent enough people. Now, are there any questions?” Amanda finished, looking over each of the four men one more time, taking one more drag of her cigarette and blowing it back over her shoulder.