[ At first there's no one visible on the feed at all - just a bad shakycam-esque view of a bar, the hand holding the device wavering badly. Empty or half-empty bottles are littered on the bar, and a photograph is propped up carefully against one of the empties. Eventually, the device's owner manages to figure it out, the camera view changing to show his face.

It's a wonder that the man is able to operate the comm device at all. He’s a mess; though he’s wearing the standard crew jumper, his hair is mussed and unwashed, and there are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. More than that, though, is the fact that he's dead drunk - and he's clearly not a happy drunk. He's a big man, muscular, and the lines of his body are tense and hard, his expression just this side of angry.

This is not someone you want to meet in a dark alley, inebriated or no.

He focuses as best he can on the screen, scowling. It's difficult to operate, the tiny icons hard to pinpoint with his fingers. (He may have accidentally sent a few private and totally incomprehensible messages before managing to access the main network. Sorry about that.) ]

Gotta find her.

[ Right, the network...Booker's still not 100% sure about this thing. There's no wires hooked up to it, nothing to show how it's connected to anything at all, but hey, he's seen stranger stuff in the past week.

Might as well give it a shot. ]

Looking for a girl.

[ He smiles suddenly, all teeth and glittering eyes, and then laughs, dark and bitter. ]

Not gonna find her, though. She ain't here. She's back in the city, with him.

[ His face twists into an ugly expression, and he tightens his hand on his current bottle, lifting it to down half of it in one go. ]

But what the hell - I'm here, ain't I? Can't do much else but ask. So here's the deal. Anyone here knows where to find Elizabeth Comstock, you let me know.

I'll make it worth your while.