Welcome to Gaia! ::

Alex turned at teh sound of the door opening. She smiled and hugged him back. "Heh, it's kind of hard not too when you can hear the dust on the floor." she joked. She looked at the liquid in teh bottle. "Hmm, well price is usually determined my how much we bought it for, and whether it's any good."

Rasta followed the man quietly, commenting casually when the chance presented itself. Three different shops, each with a completely different selection and layout. Just wandering the aisles and looking at all the different colored designs and containers made him think. What baser instincts do humans have that compel them to select a product based on aesthetics? Were we all really so easy to manipulate?

After the stranger had selected a large crate of especially exotic looking green bottles Rasta followed him five blocks back down the road to the door of a decently adorned inn. Upon entering he found it to be much more pleasurable than the inn he currently staid in. He also guessed that it was much more expensive.

Rather than following the man behind the counter Rasta simply took a seat near the door and watched the exchange between the two. Obviously the girl was some sort of proprietor and he apparently worked for her. That gave him an idea. What if he asked her for work? Such a decent inn seemed woefully understaffed with only two people. There were probably others who worked there who were just off duty, but it was always worth a try. Leaning back in the chair he waited patiently for an opportunity to present his request.

Rasta looked up from the cup rings on the glass tabletop to see the apparently young woman addressing him. Standing up, he pushed his chair back under the table and quickly paced over to where Kris had been standing before he had begun to put up the new bottles.

“My name is Rasta, and though occasionally enjoy a strong drink or three I wanted to talk to you about what I can do for you. I am a skilled laborer; good at hauling, stocking, and I am literate so I can handle filing work and contracts.”

As his practiced speech began to unfold as it had at so many job opportunities before he couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of guilty monotony. Such a logical man as Seth he had not encountered in many weeks, and he seemed close to the woman addressing him now. Maybe than being more than a part of H.E.C. corporate scheme this woman deserved a dose of creativity as well. Something separated the two from the grayness that Rasta had let himself become accustomed to.

“Well… In that case what do you recommend I do to pass the time?” Leaning casually with one hand on the bar.

“Perhaps any quick chores in which I can showcase my talents? I guess I can let these first couple of hours go by free.” Rasta joked with a smirk on his face. Of course he would let the first couple of hours go by free. He would do whatever amount of work she required if it meant for sure he would have steady work. Maybe he could even work in return for rent on one of her storage rooms. It would most definitely be a step up from his current residence.

Taking the broom from Alex, Rasta resumed the job where she had left off. ‘Hearing dust on the ceiling?’ What a strange thing to say. With a mental shake of his head he continued sweeping while silently spending the rest of the time contemplating his chance at a fresh start.

A good thirty-five minutes later Rasta straightened his back and wiped single a bead of sweat from his brow. “Ahh… Maybe I’m just better at lifting and hauling? Or writing stuff?”

Looking over the product of his labors he couldn’t see anything out of place, but then again this woman could hear dust in the ceiling.

Wiping down tables. Something that sounds so simple has a surprisingly complex process. First Rasta took the dry rags Alex offered and soaked them in a prepared bucket of sanitized water. Ringing them out thoroughly, he began a careful wiping of each table, wiping the excess into the palm of his hand to toss in the nearby trashcans.

“I don’t know how you came to be the proprietor of this inn, but these are some elegant tables. I haven’t seen real glass in almost three years. And they seem relatively new too, not a lot of scratches or wear.”

Tossing the old rag back into the bucket behind the bar Rasta pulled himself up a barstool and sat down, glancing around the room in search of a clock.

Rasta’s eyes perked up at her short explanation of how the tavern came into her possession. What an interesting way to put it.

“I suppose you mean that this is a regular meeting place for people who aren’t on good terms with the H.E.C.? Or pretty much everyone without a government salary?” Now he was interested. With an environment of peers, his natural abilities and his disgust at the current status quo might actually lead to something.

“Or maybe just a few loudmouths who come in on their breaks to complain how little H.E.C. pays them for their menial positions.”