Bar Crawl
The unmistakable, familiar stench of alcohol-laced vomit – or perhaps the other way around – floods my nose as soon as I step into the noisy bar. I had heard that this place was popular with independent gladiators and wannabes alike. Given the strict deadline and the whole checklist of things I have to do to prep my potential gladiator for piloting the machine, this place is my only shot. Dodging the drunks like a skilful waitress, I make my way to the counter.
The bartender gives me the briefest of looks before turning his portly frame back to his work.
“Hey, man, I need something,” I begin. Surely he knows who I can approach. He’s a bartender in an arena city, after all.
“If you need a drink, pay up and name your poison. If you need something else, door’s that a way.” The bartender’s response is quick and practiced, hinting at a lifetime of spouting the same line to people asking for things.
“Drinks, well…” I have no money to spare. Any allowance I get from working at the Junkyard goes right back into boarding and meals, unfortunately. It’s mandatory. Then again, I haven’t had any money for a long time, so it’s nothing new to me.
Mr. Bartender sees through my poverty-stricken self and snorts. “Door’s that a way, then.”
I don’t think I can expect any more words from him. I’ll just have to do this myself. Casting my gaze around the bar, I try to find someone who looks like they will hear me out.
***
A. A good-looking young man in the company of what seems to be a couple of ladies of the night. They seem to be having a jolly old time. Perhaps I can reel him in with promises of future riches and glory.
B. An old lady with a wrinkled face that looks like it’s been carved from steel. She’s sitting in the corner of the bar, being given a rather comfortable amount of personal space by everyone else. She would clearly be past her prime, but that might be all the more reason she would hear me out.
C. The little serving girl being harassed by a bunch of drunks. Not that I’ve much hopes from her as a pilot, but I know how stories like these go; if I help her out, she’ll lead me to some super strong hidden talent. Probably.
D. There’s a… cow tethered to the back door for some reason. It seems to have strangely intelligent eyes. Could it be? But no, I’ve been sober for so long, there’s no reason I would be seeing things here. Right? But even a cow can pilot magic armor, if I work on it...