015✖; (text)

[circumitus]

speakeasy/game room's a bit understaffed lately with the few losses we've had.

could use some extra hands if anyone wants to help out with either or both floors.

jobs including but not limited to:

- managing bar/game room
- bartending special drinks for philistines who have no idea what good taste is
- bouncers in case some motherfucker tries to wreck the place (going to need people capable of throwing someone out on their ass)
- music maybe?
- helping me distill the shit people drink here so you all dont dry out my supply

thats all thanks bye

[On that note, she'll just be attaching a handy signup form and... hope for the best.]

Comments

[bloodbathing]

[ The next message comes after a short pause: ]

Can you teach?

[ Look at that! A full sentence! Granted, it's an extremely short one — but the fact that Maine bothered to type an entire sentence is significant. ]

[circumitus]

have taught more complicated things than that, so yeah.

[bloodbathing]

OK.

[ He'll help. ]

When?

[circumitus]

whenever.
spent most of last month scouting, so will probably be staying closer to home while this shit gets sorted out.

text → action;

[bloodbathing]

Roger.

[ Once he fills out the attached form, Maine makes his way to the building labeled "Speakeasy" on his map. His arrival is easy to spot. Clad in his ever-present white armor, the Freelancer stands at 7'4" and is built like he could barrel straight through a wall without slowing down. But he doesn't appear bent on destruction at the moment; the gold dome of his helmet turns left and right, looking around for the proprietor. ]

action;

[circumitus]

[Well shit, that is big. Like, even for Rey. She's used to craning her neck when talking to her father, but this guy would almost a foot over Lucas. She'd almost pay good money to see that now, heh.]

...You signed up for the distilling?

[That's a little hard to believe... but Rey had time to look over the signups and--

[Yup, there he is.]

action;

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine nods, studying the woman through his visor. Those scars could be the result of anything from combat to body modification. Her physique, on the other hand, can only be the result of hard work. He's guessing she doesn't have any problem throwing people out of her bar.

From a compartment of his armor, Maine pulls out his phone. He's prepared for this part, at least. He turns the screen towards her so that she can read the single word he's written: ]

Maine.

[ His name. Same one he put on her signup sheet. ]

action;

[circumitus]

[There's no doubting her lifestyle based on appearance alone, and she's always considered herself to be a pretty good judge when it's necessary. Much like this guy when she sees him, between his size and his armor and disposition, tells her that making liquor isn't his highest forte.

[Still, she's got enough heavys that she appreciates the extra hands elsewhere. Besides, she knows that sometimes it's better to dip your hands into something outside of your comfort zone. For instance, she never saw herself running a place like this in a million years -- or in the hundred that she had been "alive".

[Rey blinks as the big guy brings out his phone rather than speaks, offering just a name.]

Ah, right. Like the state... [Or former state, now a bombed down wasteland in her world. But how necessary is that?] Not much of a talker, are you?

[Just Rey, stating the obvious.]

action;

[bloodbathing]

[ The Freelancer offers another nod at Rey's first comment. Yes, just like the state. It still exists in his time, though he's never visited. Never even set foot on the planet Earth.

When she notes his taciturn nature, Maine presses his lips together behind his visor. He never was much of a talker, before. Now, it's no longer an option.

Maine draws the phone back. Types out another word and holds it out for her to see: ]

Can't.

[ Speak, he means. Nine bullets point-blank to the throat took that ability away from him. ]