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Sid Anansi sits in her corner in the 'Dive, holding forth to some of her acolytes, spider-tats crawling psychedelically over muscled arms. She is old guard, flybro for life, living fucking legend, queen of queens in this corner of the sector. Newbros are hanging on every word.
Flick and Posh'n'Pull are making out on the dance floor during a vocal break, only to explode back into frantic dancing as the beat stomps back in, sweat flying, neon shiny hair flailing. Their bro Bee is taking pics and vid for the 'gram, for the shippers to obsess over.
Sponge sits at the bar. They have already drunken three members of the Torpedo Freeks under the table, and the remaining two are not looking good, either.
Kleen is on a table, bragging as always. His mouth is too big for his own good today, as Snarl walks in, squares off with him and puts a fist through his teeth.
Sid curls her lip in disgust. Something like that would have been cleared in the Sim-U-later (tm) or chopper to chopper in her day. Someone snaps a pic with her for Flygram. She hardly notices. someone asked for the story. The story of how she took four VeeCorp Starlance Mark IVs all by herself after her crew was disabled in an ambush. It's her favourite to tell, even though the always sheds a tear after for her lover SœurDouleur, who died in that fight. Then, as always, she raises her glass.
The RecJockey fades the music, as they always to for Sid, and she says: "Ride forever, flybros, wherever you are."
And the whole 'Dive toasts in silence.