Birtomart Transport Centre. I will be wearing a fez.
While Hoplite sat with his Thursday dinner and a deeply broiling female rivalry in front of him, Hei strode toward the building where the creep decided to show his face. Don’t expect to go away without a mark when you stalk someone’s very valued companion.
She stopped in front of the entrance to glance at the railway clock hanging above her head. If it weren’t for the emergent mission, she would have bought Hoplite a real meal out of her gracious and charitable heart, pure of plans to extract potential favors in the future. Such subtle transactions of personal good will were handled more comfortably by Miss Watson. Hei, on the other hand, had made attempt at the sophisticated social maneuvers on her own with some … questionable success. There were not many who could offer notable services out in this world of darkness who held free food to the high regard she held. Because seriously, what beats free food? So far, she only received repayment in meals, and although she was a bit disappointed with the lack of significant boons, she was content. But she had hopes for Hoplite, a hungry, unsettled immigrant, as a good investment. Unbeknownst to her, Hoplite was being served a side dish of a deeply broiling female rivalry for his Thursday dinner.
She squeezed past an exiting passerby and spread her gaze across the giant room. She spotted the fez sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd. She grinned and walked around as to sneak up behind the man with the funny hat. She tapped him on the shoulder and, before he could respond, she said,
“Now, before you say anything, how about we go to my place, where we can do business privately.”
OOC: Spell check as Brito, not Birto
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