Rentyre
You walk over to the bar, nodding as the barkeeper's eyes meet yours. It's an impulse, one that results in a mug of beer being flung down once you reach your seat.
"You real tonight, Reg?" he asks.
"Sure I am, Clive," you say, with a nonchalant wave of your arm. "I gotta have some time in my own skin, right?"
He laughs. It's a very long laugh, and rather annoying since it really wasn't that funny. "Man, kid, I envy you. That must be one of the best jobs in the world. Think about it. Every day you find yourself in someone else. Sure, you deal with parents, but you get paid to party! How could it get any better?"
"Well, yeah," you say, "But there's a lot more risks doin' this than there would be pourin' drinks all day! Even if we overlook technical failure, what happens when someone holds my body hostage, eh? If they've got nothin' to lose, I'd be screwed." Clearly, this is a subject Reggie feels strongly about. Most of your logic is coming from his memories.
The bartender just scoffs. "Oh, please, Reg, like you don't get paid hundreds for that risk. 'Sides, you've got Rentyra Co. willing to hurl millions in retributions."
Clive looks ready to keep ranting, but lucky for you a couple comes in at the other side of the bar. As he heads over there to serve, a nice red-head saunters into the seat to your left.
She seems nice enough, and the two of you engage in pleasant conversation. One mug turns into two, then three. As you find yourself spilling someone else's secrets to a complete stranger, it occurs to you that Reggie might be a lightweight.
"You real tonight, Reg?" he asks.
"Sure I am, Clive," you say, with a nonchalant wave of your arm. "I gotta have some time in my own skin, right?"
He laughs. It's a very long laugh, and rather annoying since it really wasn't that funny. "Man, kid, I envy you. That must be one of the best jobs in the world. Think about it. Every day you find yourself in someone else. Sure, you deal with parents, but you get paid to party! How could it get any better?"
"Well, yeah," you say, "But there's a lot more risks doin' this than there would be pourin' drinks all day! Even if we overlook technical failure, what happens when someone holds my body hostage, eh? If they've got nothin' to lose, I'd be screwed." Clearly, this is a subject Reggie feels strongly about. Most of your logic is coming from his memories.
The bartender just scoffs. "Oh, please, Reg, like you don't get paid hundreds for that risk. 'Sides, you've got Rentyra Co. willing to hurl millions in retributions."
Clive looks ready to keep ranting, but lucky for you a couple comes in at the other side of the bar. As he heads over there to serve, a nice red-head saunters into the seat to your left.
She seems nice enough, and the two of you engage in pleasant conversation. One mug turns into two, then three. As you find yourself spilling someone else's secrets to a complete stranger, it occurs to you that Reggie might be a lightweight.