...brought up amongst the crew of his Rare Goods Trader father learning the smuggling and deal making skills which he was able to combine with the logistic and leadership skills of his Station Commander mother.  This upbringing would lead him to success in early life as he developed into a highly capable Rare Goods Trader, plotting his own intergalactic runs for profit.

In early 3302 focus turned to Robigo and the grueling runs for profit amongst ongoing conflict zones and pirate infested systems along the path back to the bubble.  Outside of this predictable outcome from his upbringing, often while staring into space at the bar in Ray Gateway, a niggle in the back of his mind formed by his military grandparents and their stories of the Dark Wheel and Thargoids never left him, what is out there, who is out there...

Then some CMDR Doberman stepped in front of him and blocked his view...

First Day Ghost Legion...First Day Greeboski’s Outpost, Phiagre
- As told by Cmdr Loggit Cupric

You can immediately tell. The way they come through the doors for the very first time. They pause, look around slightly abashed as they take in the sight of Greebo in full swing. The ladies, those always catch their eye the first though. Can't blame them, they're not hired for their intellectual persuasions. Tits and ass are what get you a job here. If you have more than 2 braincells and can hold a serving tray while walking in a straight line, you're good on essential skills.

But that's not what I was talking about. I was talking about that wide-eyed space-jockey that is here for the first time. I always make it a little game. "Guess The Vice". Booze? Drugs? Women? They always have one of the three.

Ah, he's on the move, making his way to an empty table. So far no hints as to what his poison of choice is but I'm patient. I play the long game, more fun that way. He dodges the people dancing to the music playing and aaaaaah
a female CMDR who appearantly when not sealed into a remlock wears the bare minimum and has a rather pronounced fondness for Lyrae Weed throws her arms around his neck, totally off her face on the stuff. Expensive habit, that.
And now we wait to see how he responds to this drugged-up hussy making her advances on the new blood.

Aah how boring, he disentangles her, leaving her to gyrate back to the center of the dancefloor all by her lonesome. Reaches the table, almost time for the game to be decided! Serving girl on her way, yes, almost! Ah! Here it comes, the question that signals the end-game stages; "What can I get for you, hon?" I can't hear his answer, damn it. She moves away to the bar, reaches for a bottle and pours. Booze? Or is he one of those abstainers that only fills their heads with bubble-fizzy drinks?

Fuck it! I'm bored by this, time to say hello!

"Hello CMDR. First time, huh? Place can be a bit to take in at first but relax, man, let-down, unwind.... Everybody here is going to get back in their ship tomorrow morning and get back to their regular, droning lives as cargo-haulers, slayers of men or beast. Some are here to have a final blast before they vanish into the depth of space for months, not sure if they'll return at all."

He looks at me, slightly surprised by the sudden conversation. I hope he's not a simpleton......

'Ah, yeah, it's rather...unique. But I think I can get used to it's....flavor.'

HA! So he's not as soft as I feared. And come to thing of it, I've seem this CMDR before. In passing in the corridors connecting all the hangar-bays used by the station-dogs to travel between them, or by CMDRs wanting to get the quickest way out of the docking facilities and into the station proper.

"So, gonna tell me your name?"

'Sure, if you tell me yours.'

I'm starting to like this one, he's got steel in him, not some soft, cargo-mule that wiles away his life in a flying coffin hopping from station to station in a paper-hull whale. This one has tasted blood, I'm sure of it.

"Heh, alright, fairs fair, I suppose; Loggit Cupric. Proud owner of the Velvet Lancet." I pause for just an instant. "So, now you."

'Seven.'

That's it? Just one word? Pfff this is not fun at all. I'm here to be entertained and yanking these new-bloods' chains is the best fun I can have before I take a good slamming dose of the Lyrae myself and join the hussy on the dancefloor for some carnal delights.

"Seven, well, as good a name as any, I suppose." Then it clicks; I've heard that name before. This guy has a bit of a shady reputation, some incidents with people ending up sucking vacuum. Now I personally don't care about it; there's billions more where they came from.

"Heh, you're SevenSINS! You fly the Ex Umbra! I've heard about you, CMDR. Oh don't give me that look, it's a smaller station than you'd think. Heh, yeaaaaah."

Heh, now it's getting interesting after all. Still waiting to see what drink he ordered though....

"So what's your poison, Seven? You can't tell me you're going to be sitting her sober as a stone while there is nothing you can't get here if you know who to talk to?" Me. "Tell you what, you tell me what you're having, I'll order 3 more and we'll make it a real proper Club Greebo night!"

'Yeah, that's me. My poison? Eh, Azure Milk with a dash of Kongga Ale, couple Neritus Berries in it. Smooth, yet with a kick.'

Fancy!  Never would have guessed, he wins this time, damn it!

"Alright, scoot over, I'm having a seat. Heard those berries are really sacks of blood, never had them in a drink before. This is going to be a fun night......"

And so another CMDR went from new-blood to initiate in the microcosmos where anything goes and nothing is impossible that is Club Greebo.

Welcome Septimus, Seven, CMDR. We'll be seeing you again, I'm sure. Once they get a taste of Greebo, it's in their blood.

SevenSins, CMDR with a troubled history, drink in hand. Home.