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It was well after 1 AM, she had not been to this bar in several months. The establishment had a seedy reputation and even cheaper drinks. There was a group of guys in the back trying to make small talk to a bosomy barmaid, a pair of town drunks sitting at the bar to the left of Shiori and a well dressed gentleman to her right that looked to a level out of place. He was actually a regular, he was even unemployed, but for some reason he liked to dress up whenever he went out to the bar. She had several conversations with him in the past, we was rather eccentric but the friendly sort.
"Pass me another," Shiori called to the barkeep, a middle-aged man who never said a work to her all the times she had been in there. People did not come here for the conversation, but today was different.
"That 'aint your usual,"</B><i></i> he commented as he slid another glass of bubbly sugar water in her direction.
"Lost my job today... Got a bad liver, this is the best I can get away with,"<i></i> she answered shrugging her shoulders.
"Well, I hear there is work down in the old paper mill... ya know, the one with the grates over all of the windows. Some of the freedom fighters bring their cripples there, should check it out if ya need the monies. N' fact, I bet yer just what they would need,"<i></i> he then turned around and started cleaning an already clean glass as that was his way. That was the most she had ever heard him say, she shook her head in astonishment or perhaps shock, she had thought he was a mute.
She chugged her ginger-ale and placed the glass down gently on the coaster and thanked the keep as she hastily departed the Red Scorpion Bar.
Not far from the bar was a large, dilapidated building. The building did not really stand out much from the rest of Grand Palais, the entire area was dreary. The windows were barred, not an uncommon sight considering the rate of crime this part of town was plagued with. She stopped in front of her destination, there was no sign of life inside from the best she could tell. The windows were boarded up and the front door was chained shut. The stairs were made of stone but years of neglect had allowed them to crumble into more of a ramp than a set of steps. She approached the front door all the same and banged on the door, or at least she tried. Her hand came clear through the door and she fell forward. The building's appearance was nothing but a clever illusion she quickly discovered, amazing how it even fooled her sonar sense.
She peeked her head inside, suddenly the world was abuzz with sound. From the melodic beep to the gentle constant whir to the chatter and the occasional frenzied shouts as aid was being rendered to those she should consider traitors. Most of them were just kids, teens with busted up arms, a kid with half his face burned away and a lady probably five years her senior nursing an injured leg. Sure, some of them were criminals, but not everyone here was a psychopath. There was a twang of guilt felt as she stepped forward, most of these people were the common citizen, guilty of dissension and rebellion. She let out all of the air collected in her lungs and took a deep breath.
<B>"Where do you keep your antibiotics, I'll take the burn case to the left." Shiori announced as her hands started to take on a greenish glow.
This was her mission: to work along side these people, get to know them, their names, their routines.
WC: 687
Mission said:
It was well after 1 AM, she had not been to this bar in several months. The establishment had a seedy reputation and even cheaper drinks. There was a group of guys in the back trying to make small talk to a bosomy barmaid, a pair of town drunks sitting at the bar to the left of Shiori and a well dressed gentleman to her right that looked to a level out of place. He was actually a regular, he was even unemployed, but for some reason he liked to dress up whenever he went out to the bar. She had several conversations with him in the past, we was rather eccentric but the friendly sort.
"Pass me another," Shiori called to the barkeep, a middle-aged man who never said a work to her all the times she had been in there. People did not come here for the conversation, but today was different.
"That 'aint your usual,"</B><i></i> he commented as he slid another glass of bubbly sugar water in her direction.
"Lost my job today... Got a bad liver, this is the best I can get away with,"<i></i> she answered shrugging her shoulders.
"Well, I hear there is work down in the old paper mill... ya know, the one with the grates over all of the windows. Some of the freedom fighters bring their cripples there, should check it out if ya need the monies. N' fact, I bet yer just what they would need,"<i></i> he then turned around and started cleaning an already clean glass as that was his way. That was the most she had ever heard him say, she shook her head in astonishment or perhaps shock, she had thought he was a mute.
She chugged her ginger-ale and placed the glass down gently on the coaster and thanked the keep as she hastily departed the Red Scorpion Bar.
============
Not far from the bar was a large, dilapidated building. The building did not really stand out much from the rest of Grand Palais, the entire area was dreary. The windows were barred, not an uncommon sight considering the rate of crime this part of town was plagued with. She stopped in front of her destination, there was no sign of life inside from the best she could tell. The windows were boarded up and the front door was chained shut. The stairs were made of stone but years of neglect had allowed them to crumble into more of a ramp than a set of steps. She approached the front door all the same and banged on the door, or at least she tried. Her hand came clear through the door and she fell forward. The building's appearance was nothing but a clever illusion she quickly discovered, amazing how it even fooled her sonar sense.
She peeked her head inside, suddenly the world was abuzz with sound. From the melodic beep to the gentle constant whir to the chatter and the occasional frenzied shouts as aid was being rendered to those she should consider traitors. Most of them were just kids, teens with busted up arms, a kid with half his face burned away and a lady probably five years her senior nursing an injured leg. Sure, some of them were criminals, but not everyone here was a psychopath. There was a twang of guilt felt as she stepped forward, most of these people were the common citizen, guilty of dissension and rebellion. She let out all of the air collected in her lungs and took a deep breath.
<B>"Where do you keep your antibiotics, I'll take the burn case to the left." Shiori announced as her hands started to take on a greenish glow.
This was her mission: to work along side these people, get to know them, their names, their routines.
WC: 687